


The Joy Delirious

by Ari_Alleyn



Series: Reason and Love [2]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/F, F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:45:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 51,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4573857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ari_Alleyn/pseuds/Ari_Alleyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SEQUEL to "One Half Myself is Yours." A series of unfortunate events leads Phryne and Jack to end up working undercover on two totally different cases in the very same jazz club on the very same night. A previous failed attempt at romance has made their present relationship awkward and uncertain, but when an old familiar foe reemerges, they are forced to fall back into step for good or ill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** As noted in the summary, this story is a direct sequel to the story  **One Half Myself is Yours**. I'm afraid this story won't make much sense as a standalone, so I do strongly encourage (ie: beg) that you go back and read  **One Half Myself is Yours**  if you haven't yet! You can find it in my profile.

This story is dedicated to my grandfather, Jacob "Jack" Moriarty, who taught me to play the clarinet when I was very young with a book of simple Cole Porter tunes for beginner musicians.

There's going to be a lot of Cole Porter music in this story, and the chapter titles will give you hints as to which song you might want to play in the background while you read!

* * *

**The Joy Delirious**

By Ari Moriarty

… _the night when you first were there,_

_In love with my joy delirious_

_When I knew that you could care._

_So taunt me, hurt me,_

_Deceive me, desert me,_

_I'm yours till I die…_

_So in love with you am I._

Cole Porter, "So In Love"

* * *

**Prologue**

"I now pronounce you," intoned the minister, "man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

He spread his arms wide, as though his work there was done, and then took a step back to yield the floor to Mr. Alfred Morton and the newly minted Mrs. Rosie Morton, nee Sanderson. Morton was beaming like a besotted school boy as he took Rosie gently into his arms, and Rosie blushed, shut her eyes, and glowed like any perfect bride straight out of the fashion cartoon in a ladies magazine.

Seated in the third pew from the back of the lovely little church where he himself had celebrated nuptials many years ago, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson watched another man marry his wife.

 _Treat her well, Morton,_ he thought, nodding to himself.  _Lord knows she's had disappointing enough romances so far. If she asks you for it, give her the moon. You'll make her happy...and if you don't, I know where to find you. Never forget that your new wife's ex-husband is a police detective. I could have every single detail about your personal and professional life on my desk in a matter of twenty-four hours if I ever thought for a moment that you were even considering breaking her heart._

Family members and friends from the first few rows were starting to get up to go and congratulate the happy couple. Jack himself had thought to slip in just to give Rosie his best regards, but it was clear now that if he wanted a word, he'd have to fend off the throng of well-wishers first, or else wait in the back until they'd had their fill of congratulations.

 _Good luck, Mrs. Robinson,_ he thought, getting to his feet and slipping quietly out the church's back door.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately depending on how awkward one considered the second marriage of an ex-wife, Jack wouldn't have time that afternoon to attend the reception. He'd sent the wedding gift, quite a nice English china set, along by post, and as far as he was concerned, that was the end of that. Rosie was rid of him, now, and he didn't see the point of lurking around and making things any more uncomfortable for either of them. So many of Rosie's fondest memories of life with Jack, after all, were probably unpleasant recollections of run-ins with police procedure or being caught up in cases of murder and exploitation; hardly worth the reminiscing.

As it happened, Jack himself was, at that moment, in the midst of a murder case, although it was still the same murder case that he'd woken up to face every morning for weeks. It had been almost a month and a half since the disappearance of Daniel Kelley, famous screen actor and now fugitive from the law, alleged accessory to two murders and perpetrator of one attempted sexual assault. Jack had been so bogged down lately in police reports, mistaken sightings and angry telephone calls from the Chief concerning Daniel Kelley that he was starting to get thoroughly sick of hearing the man's name, but that didn't matter.

There were very special reasons why the Kelley investigation was so particularly important to Jack. For one thing, his senior constable was still in danger of being held responsible and subsequently demoted for allowing Kelley to escape custody in the first place, and that wouldn't do. Hugh was a good man, a good policeman, and on top of that he was one of the only City South constables that Jack could stand for longer than ten minutes at a stretch. Jack had no intention of giving Hugh up without a good fight.

Of course, there was also the matter of Phryne Fisher's nightmares.

Jack and Phryne had barely spoken since she'd closed her Shakespeare-in the-park production of "Antony and Cleopatra" weeks ago. He still found himself struggling not to think of her on those more and more frequent occasions when he ended up working alone at the station, waiting endlessly for no news at all, eyeing the whisky stash in his bottom drawer and half-wishing for, half-dreading the moment when Phryne would sashay back in through that front station door.

The days, in fact, had all started to blend together, but the nights at least were a little less monotonous now that Jack had started following a merciful new lead that took him out most evenings until long after even Phryne would have probably been in bed.

He still distinctly remembered the very decisive, quiet way that Phryne had almost forced him to meet her eyes as she'd told him with that pitying smile on her face that she couldn't "afford" to love him. The memory haunted him when he closed his eyes and plagued him when he stopped thinking about Kelley long enough to admit any other thought processes. It had sounded so final, then, and it had looked so final on her face, but Jack wasn't a man who knew how to readily give up.

Just around the corner, he was sure, was some hint or clue to Kelley's whereabouts; some tiny little lead that Jack was missing. He had to find it, to finally catch Daniel Kelley and locked him away where he belonged. Jack knew that then and only then would he have any right or reason at all to go back to Phryne and to beg her (because there was no point in pretending, now, that it was anything more dignified) to reconsider him. If he caught Kelley, Jack kept telling himself, then he'd have a way to calm her fears, to stop her nightmares, and he'd have some sort of grounds on which to plead to his own case.

Even though the rational part of him knew that Kelley wasn't really the problem and never had been, Jack found that he couldn't force himself to stop.

Daniel Kelley's disappearance was becoming an obsession, now, just as Phryne Fisher had become a terrible, longing ache in his chest, and Jack didn't care. He was too far gone to turn back, and that was better, at least, than the deadly realization that it might genuinely all be over, and that when she'd told him "no," she might have meant it in earnest.

When Jack finally pulled his car into the station and strode back to his own desk, he found it deserted. There was only Constable Walker lounging at a desk in the other room, apparently reading a newspaper.

"Oh, uh, Inspector!" Constable Walker got hurriedly to his feet as Jack strode in. "You're, um, back early."

Jack just nodded curtly at him. "Walker. Where's Detective Henderson?"

Walker shrugged.

"Dunno, sir," he admitted. "Oh, but Constable Collins wanted me to tell you that he's stepped out for a few hours."'

Jack stared.

"A few  _hours,_ Constable?" Rubbing wearily at his right temple, Jack took a deep breath. "And, did he say exactly why he suddenly needed so much unexpected time away from the desk?"

"Didn't say, sir," admitted Walker, sounding totally unperturbed. "Sounded like it might have been personal business, though. Uh, sorry, sir."

Walker subsided back into his own chair.

Jack, with nothing else to do for it, shook his head, sat down at his desk, and picked up the telephone.

* * *

As that same morning wore on into afternoon, Phryne Fisher was still in bed.

It had been a long night, full of fitful sleeps and vaguely unsettling but unmemorable dreams. Now the sun was shining, the birds were singing and it had already become an unmistakably beautiful day, but just as she had several times over the past few weeks, Phryne found herself having a hard time self-motivating. The ennui had gotten the better of her, and no amount of sunshiny birdsong was having any effect.

 _Ho hum,_ thought Phryne, sighing to herself.

Someone knocked gently at the door, and Phryne pushed herself up onto her elbows.

"Yes," she called. "You can come in, Mr. Butler. I'm as decent as I'll ever be."

After a moment, Mr. Butler opened the door and stuck his head in.

"Good morning, Miss," he said, smiling at her.

"Good afternoon," she sighed in response, giving him a rueful sort of smile. "I've missed breakfast. I'm sorry."

"Lunch," Mr. Butler assured her smoothly, "will be ready shortly."

Phryne grinned gratefully in return.

"Miss Jane telephoned this morning," continued Mr. Butler, "to inform you that her train will be arriving tomorrow morning at ten o'clock. I wasn't sure, Miss, if you wanted to take the car yourself, or if you'd rather have Mr. Yates and Mr. Johnson collect her in the cab."

Phryne sighed, threw her legs over the side of the bed and got up at last, stretching her arms up over her head and letting loose one last, ever-so-graceful open-mouthed yawn.

"Oh, I'll be going to pick her up myself," she assured him. "I'd almost forgotten that tomorrow is the big day! Steel yourself for the worst, Mr. Butler; Jane is a healthy, developing young woman in all the appropriate senses of the phrase. I'm sure she'll be a different young woman entirely from the one she was when she left for school months ago. She always seems to be a different woman when she comes home."

Mr. Butler nodded.

"Quite so," he agreed. "She seems a little bit more like you with every passing year."

"Do you think so?" Phryne laughed. "That might not be such a wonderful thing. I'm hardly the most conventionally appropriate role model for a proper young lady."

"I think," countered Mr. Butler simply, "that you're doing just fine."

Phryne shook her head at him, feeling just a little bit better already at the prospect of finally seeing Jane again after so long an absence.

"Dr. MacMillan," added Mr. Butler unexpectedly, "is downstairs in the drawing room. She's brought a friend with her, but they assure me that they're willing to wait."

"Mac's here?" Phryne blinked. "I wonder what for. How long has she been waiting? Nevermind, I'm coming now."

After Mr. Butler had quietly excused himself, shutting the door again behind him, Phryne pulled together a set of clothes more appropriate for polite company and then headed downstairs to the drawing room.

Dr. Elizabeth MacMillan was indeed sitting on the sofa and sipping at a cup of Mr. Butler's famous tea, with another, slightly younger woman seated alongside her.

"Oh, Phryne!" Mac got up as Phryne swept into the room.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mac" said Phryne apologetically. "I'm afraid I've been a bit lazy this morning."

"Beautiful day for it," agreed Mac, shrugging. "And it's not as though you knew I was coming. Sorry for the unexpected drop in, but my friend here's got a bit of a problem that I thought might appeal to your penchant for playing the heroine."

"Oh?" Phryne took a seat across from them in a chair, and helped herself to a cup of the tea on the table. "How perfect. Here you come at last, Mac, to save me from ennui. I've been bored, and I'm intrigued. Do tell, please."

Mac indicated the woman seated beside her; perhaps twenty five or thirty years old, with short-cropped blond hair and a very slim, boyish sort of figure that was entirely disguised by the crisp white gentleman's shirt she wore and the pair of very slightly too-large trousers.

"This," explained Mac, "is Charlie Taylor."

Charlie gave Phryne an uncertain sort of nod and half-smile.

"Hullo, Miss Fisher," said Charlie.

Phryne inclined her head.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Taylor," she said.

For a moment, Charlie's eyes flashed, and then she frowned and bit her lip, shooting an uncertain look at Mac. Mac gave her an encouraging nod in return.

"W-well actually," mumbled Charlie, somehow managing to look defiant and sound half-hearted at the same time, "I prefer, uh, Mr. Taylor. Mr. Charlie Taylor, i-if you don't…I mean, that's my name."

Phryne blinked, glanced quickly at Mac, and then did a rapid mental re-calculation before turning her bright smile back on and nodding at Charlie.

"I'm terribly sorry," said Phryne smoothly. "My mistake, Mr. Taylor."

Charlie frowned for a moment, then seemed to relax just a little bit.

"It's no problem," he muttered. "Uh…yeah, no big deal. Thanks."

"Charlie," added Mac, "is a jazz clarinetist at the Three Brothers club downtown. Unfortunately, he's run into a bit of trouble with some of his co-workers, and I thought that you might like to help out."

"I might like to," agreed Phryne. "I hope, Mr. Taylor that I'm not being too offensive if I hazard a guess that your little trouble might have something to do with your preference in pronouns and expensive gentlemen's shirts?"

Charlie's shoulders sagged a little bit.

"Hit it in one, Miss," he agreed, looking annoyed.

Again, he paused and looked uncertainly at Mac.

"Perhaps," suggested Phryne, "you'd better tell me about it. Mr. Butler? More tea, if you please."

As if out of nowhere, Mr. Butler materialized in the doorway, nodded at all three of them, and then headed off towards the kitchen for a fresh pot.

Charlie waited until he'd gone, then let out a short, grumbling sort of sigh and sat back on the sofa, slouching in on himself just a little as he started talking again.

"Well," he began slowly, "I don't want you to start thinking that I'm crazy or anything, but I've been putting up with this for too long already and it's starting to really get on my nerves."

"From the beginning," suggested Mac. "The whole thing, too."

Charlie hesitated, and Mac made a face at him.

"You had me drag you all this way," she said curtly, "so you might as well give it up and stop trying to back out now. Talk."

Charlie sighed.

"Okay, okay," he muttered ungraciously. "Well...Miss Fisher, it all started a few weeks ago when I came in before opening hours to see if I could figure out what the hell I'd done with my hat."

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

Again, I have to stop in the middle and head off to work (I'm working until four AM the next two nights. Lovely.) I can promise that I'll complete this two-part chapter tomorrow, but only if I can manage to drag myself out of bed long enough to get to a computer. I do so love these multi-all-nighter weekends.

If you leave me a note to help me get through the long night, you'll have done your good deed for the day and I'll make sure everybody knows it.

If you don't message me, I'll be stuck force feeding Gatorade to naked people all night, after bondage-wrapping them and making sure they know where to find all their corsets, axes and bullwhips.

(we are quite obviously not talking about my teaching job, here. Any guesses **? Lillian** , you are absolutely not allowed to guess as you already know!)


	2. Chapter One: Why Can't You Behave

**Author's Note:** I. Am. So. Tired. There will be typos…oh, there will be typos. Sorry friends. I'll make it up to you sometime when I can see enough to properly apologize.

Last call, by the by, for a DC metro area MFMM fanfiction meetup group. Speak now or forever hold your pleas, loves. I'm sending stuff around this evening! Email me at ariellemoriarty at gmail dot com if you want in. Going once, going twice...

* * *

**Chapter One: Why Can't You Behave**

"It all started," began Charlie with a sigh, "a few weeks ago, when I came in before opening hours to see if I could figure out what the hell I'd done with my hat. You see, I'd lost my hat somewhere the night before; I figure maybe I'd left it on the piano or maybe I'd dropped it in the bathroom or something."

Phryne nodded.

"Anyway," Charlie went on, "so I get into the Three Brothers, and I'm looking around for my hat, and I'm standing in my little alcove next to the piano where I usually play, and then I, uh…I see it. It's just hanging up there on the wall with this piece of plaster stuck to it, all tacky-like, and I-!

"Your hat?" Phryne found. "Someone had hung your hat up on the wall?"

"Nah, not the hat," insisted Charlie hurriedly, shaking his head. "Still haven't found the damn hat, actually. Nah, it was…this photo, sort of. Kinda like a photo, only someone had pasted this piece of another photo on to the bottom of it."

Phryne frowned.

Letting out a frustrated little burst of breath, Charlie suddenly shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a half-crumbled photograph, which he handed over to Phryne.

"This one," he muttered sullenly.

Phryne pressed the photograph against her knee and did her best to smooth out the creases.

It turned out to be a photograph of Charlie himself, almost. The head was definitely Charlie's head, but someone had cut Charlie's torso and legs away and had replaced them with another photograph; one of the legs and torso of an extremely voluptuous dark-skinned woman wearing nothing but a set of very lacy purple lingerie.

"Oh," murmured Phryne. "I see."

"Yeah," agreed Charlie, shrugging. "And I mean, it was just a stupid prank; nothing all that bad, right? So I took the photo off the wall, still couldn't find my hat and so I went about my business. Didn't think about it at all again until the next day, when-!"

"Wait, Charlie," interrupted Phryne. "When exactly did you find this photo?"

"Oh, uh, three weeks ago," supplied Charlie. "Tuesday, I think. That's right. Anyway, the next day, that was Wednesday, obviously, and I went in and there was another photo. This time I guess it was supposed to be me at the beach, or something."

Charlie pulled out of his pocket and passed over a second photo, this time of his head plastered onto a totally different woman's body wearing a spotted bikini bathing suit.

"And after that," he went on, "there were more of the damn things. Stupid little annoying, nasty things, like me in evening gowns and with all kinds of mink shawls and red purses, and nonsense like that, until, uh…well, until yesterday."

Suddenly, Charlie fell silent again, and Phryne had to wait a long moment before he decided he was ready to speak up.

"Here's the last one I found," he sighed, reaching into his pocket yet again, and this time pulling out a thoroughly crumpled paper ball, which Phryne had to spend several minutes carefully un-crumpling before she could make out what it was supposed to be.

It appeared, eventually, to be a rather larger photo, this time of Charlie Taylor entirely in the nude, wearing nothing but a slightly bemused look on his face, which was turned so far to the right that he didn't appear to be aware of the person behind the camera at all. In fact, this photo was different from the others in that, not only was Charlie distinctly not wearing clothes, but the pose was far from magazine-ready. He was half bent over, apparently in the midst of reaching down to the ground for something, and Phryne had a feeling that this photo hadn't been tampered with or pasted on in any way. This one looked candid.

"That one's a real photograph," mumbled Charlie, shrugging. "I mean…none of it's from a magazine, or anything. It's all, uh…that's all me."

Phryne very carefully folded the photo back up and returned it to him, studiously ignoring the way that Charlie snatched it out of her hand and shoved it hurriedly back into his pocket where no doubt it was crumpled again beyond repair.

"It's just nasty tricks," he began, a bit defensively.

"-but they're mean spirited and cruel tricks," finished Mac, pursing her lips and taking a deep breath. "Whoever's been taking the time to create and post these pictures clearly thinks it's hilarious to mock at Charlie's appearance, and at his clothes, and at his-!"

"At his identity," murmured Phryne. "They're not just mocking your clothes, are they, Charlie? They're undermining who you are. That's why it upsets you, isn't it?"

Charlie said nothing. He just scuffed his feet against the carpet and glared at nothing in particular.

"If I were you," continued Phryne gently, "I wouldn't let it get to you too much. People have always taken objection to anyone who dares to deviate from the societal sense of what 'identity' should be. They believe that a man should be a certain way, and that a woman should be a totally different but equally certain way. We all have our roles, male and female. Any deviation from those roles is supposed to be, apparently, as laughable as our artistic practical joker seems so eager to remind us."

"Well I, for one, have had enough of it," snapped Mac. "Once Charlie finally told me what was going on, we decided to come straight to you. I'd like to teach this joker a lesson in gender non-specific manners."

"And you'd like me to find out who it is, I assume." Phryne frowned.

Mac just nodded. "That'd certainly help," she agreed. "I figured if anyone would understand why this drives me halfway up the wall, than you would. You get it. You've had your fair share of people trying to tell you how to live your life and how to 'be a lady.' God knows, so have I. We get it."

Still frowning thoughtfully, Phryne turned back to Charlie, who seemed to be struggling now to meet her eyes.

"Charlie," she asked, "I know this is a bit personal, but which restroom do you typically use to change? I assume that you change clothes before or perhaps after an evening's shows. Do you use the mens room, or the ladies?"

"Ladies," mumbled Charlie. "By decree of the almighty goddamn management."

Phryne nodded.

"In that case," she said, "I think we can safely assume that our hilarious photographer is a woman, since it's most likely that this last photograph was taken in the ladies room. That is, of course, unless you think there are any other likely places where you might have been caught recently in such an incriminating state of undress?"

Phryne smiled and raised a teasing eyebrow, but Charlie only flushed a dark sort of murky scarlet and shook his head emphatically.

"No ma'am," he assured her. "Not a chance. No way. Must have been the restroom."

Phryne and Mac exchanged a quick look.

"Well that does make it easier," replied Phryne. "In that case, Mr. Taylor, may I suggest that we go and have a look around at your club? I should like to have a word with any of the ladies on the staff…and perhaps any of the lady regulars, too; anyone, in fact, who might have used the ladies bathroom several times over the course of the past few days."

Mac nodded encouragingly, but Charlie didn't look entirely convinced.

"I dunno, Miss Fisher," he muttered. "Not sure what use it's gonna be having a lady detective asking questions around the joint. Everybody knows your name, and if they hear that you're' asking the questions they'll probably just clam up. Nobody wants to admit to being a sneaky little asswipe to a big-time famous lady detective."

"Well, then I won't be a big-time, famous lady detective," retorted Phryne. "I suppose I'll just have to have an alias for the evening."

Mac rolled her eyes at Phryne.

"The element of surprise," she muttered, "and maybe even a disguise or two. This is right up your alley, isn't it, Phryne?"

Phryne laughed. "No point in denying it, is there?"

"Do you, uh, sing, Miss Fisher?" Charlie was sizing her, chewing thoughtfully on his lip. "Lady who sings for the second half of the night called out sick this morning. Figure she probably drank too much last night and couldn't' face it again today. If you can sing a little, then we can say tell the boss you're a friend of mine and that you're stepping in to cover. How's that work for an element of disguise? You can sit right next to the piano with me and see the whole place. Maybe you'll catch something I didn't…or spot somebody I wouldn't. Maybe not. Worth a try, do you think?"

"Oh lord," murmured Mac. "Charlie, you don't know how perfect it is. Phryne'll have a ball. Just don't forget, Miss Big-shot lady detective, to keep an eye out for our practical joker while you're crooning away at the piano and having the time of your life."

"Don't be sour, Mac," retorted Phryne, grinning at her. "What's wrong with mixing a little bit of business with pleasure? This is going to be fun…and I did so need a little bit of good, old-fashioned fun."

* * *

Later that evening, Phryne dressed herself up in her favorite little black dress with the pearls on the neck and just a hint of white fringe at the hem. She put a feather in her hair, did a little twirl in front of the mirror, and decided that she looked just exactly enough like the flirty, fun singer for a jazz club band to pass muster for the night at least.

It felt good, getting dressed up again for something she was genuinely excited about. Phryne couldn't remember a time over the last few weeks when she'd been really enthusiastic about looking good, but this was for a good cause, and a good disguise for a good cause was a big deal.

Mac and Charlie showed up at the residence just after eight o'clock, and Phryne drove them all to the Three Brothers club in her motorcar.

"I've already spoken to Mr. Todd about you," Charlie told them as they walked together down the street and up to the big, sound-muffling club doors. "He says it's fine; he's happy to have anybody who can step in last minute. You'll have a good view of the whole place from the piano, like I said, so it should work out all right. You can do all the spying you want."

Phryne nodded.

"When we get in," Charlie went on, pulling open the door and revealing the deliciously darkened interior with lazy piano music drifting out, "you'll wanna go right up and talk to Mr. Jones. Mr. Jones is our new piano player; he knows about you already, too. I mean…he knows about you singing tonight, not about you being a detective, and all. You're gonna like Mr. Jones, Miss Fisher. He's a nice man…the right kind. Never gives me a hard time about the way I dress, and he's one of the few who's never made a crack."

"They're a rare breed," muttered Mac darkly. "Men who can keep their mouths closed and their unwanted opinions to themselves, I mean."

Phryne smiled.

"Uh, only thing is," Charlie went on as they crossed the room, stepping around tables and through excitedly chattering, swaying people, "I want you to be nice to Mr. Jones, Miss Fisher. I'm sure he's not the one putting up the nasty photos, and they say he's having a hard time, just now. He only started playing for us a couple of weeks ago, and sometimes after hours the ladies say they see him drinking by himself, after everybody else has cleared out. He doesn't like to talk about it, but the ladies think maybe something bad happened, like maybe his girl left him and he's got the blues or something like that. Just treat him okay, right? No teasing. He's a good guy, our Archie Jones."

Suddenly, Phryne stopped in her tracks, startled by the sound of the familiar name.

"What?" She blinked. "Charlie, did you say…Archie Jones? As in 'Archibald Jones, he of the dulcet tones'?"

"Oh." Charlie looked surprised. "You've heard of him, Miss? Didn't know he had himself a reputation, but I guess I'm not too surprised. He's damn good."

"Oh lord," whispered Mac.

"I…yes," managed Phryne, keeping that smile carefully plastered on her face while her mind spun. "We've met before…more than once, as a matter of fact. My, my, won't good old Archie be surprised to see me!"

By this time, Phryne had picked out the piano player in the crowd, and her heart did a sort of complicated sequence of leap and plummet when she recognized that he was, in fact, the very same Archibald Jones that had once, ever so briefly, worked for radio 3JH before disappearing into the obscurity of a hundred police aliases before him. There was no mistaking the straightness of that figure, the tension in those shoulders and the endearing way he unconsciously mouthed the lyrics under his breath as he played.

 _Jack,_ thought Phryne, sighing a little to herself.  _Now, what on earth could you be doing here? I suppose I'm even more pleased, now, that I took the time to get my costume right._

Jack himself, or rather the great Archibald Jones finished his little piano tune and then stopped, taking a few moments rest. There was a tall glass of something liquid at his elbow, although Phryne guessed that if he was, in fact, working an undercover job, then it was probably just a glass of water. Phryne had his handsome face in profile, and she was frankly embarrassed by the way her knees started going weak as she watched him swallow, settle his shoulders again and poise his hands on the keys to play.

"Oh boy," murmured Mac, shaking her head. "I have a feeling that this is about to get a wholly different kind of interesting."

Phryne shot her a look, but Mac didn't seem to be paying attention.

"Well," Mac suggested, raising her eyebrows and giving Phryne a little shove. "Go on, won't you? I'm sure you and Archie have a set list to work out, and all sorts of fun catching up to do, of course. What are you waiting for?"

Phryne turned to glare at Mac, but Mac just kept smiling innocently.

"You're a bit more vicious than I think I've ever given you credit for," murmured Phryne.

"You flatter me," retorted Mac sarcastically . "Go on. Charlie and I will be just fine right here…watching for the culprit. You know. Keeping out of your way."

Charlie looked puzzled. "Is…something going on here, Dr. Mac? Do you, uh, know Mr. Jones, too?"

Taking a deep breath, Phryne shut her eyes for a moment and then started up the steps to the little platform where the piano was raised, protected ever so slightly from the enthusiastic crowd of jazz-lovers.

 _Pull yourself together, Phryne,_ she reminded herself.  _Just keep smiling. We are still, absolutely, going to have a good time tonight…absolutely._

Aware that Mac was still watching her intently, Phryne smiled brightly and cleared her throat.

"Hello, Archie," she said, loudly enough to be heard over both the crowd and the piano. "Fancy meeting you in a place like this! It is a small world, isn't it?"

Inspector Jack Robinson's fingers froze on the keys, and then he turned, ever so slowly, to stare.

"Oh lord," he managed.

"Yes," sighed Phryne apologetically. "I'm afraid so."

Jack gaped, and for a moment, neither of them seemed to be able to find a single thing to say.

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

Not coherent. Still tired. Can't words. Sleep now. Thanks.


	3. Chapter Two: Wild About You

**Author's Note:** Dear sweet merciful heaven, why am I awake? The desire to write is my demon.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Wild About You**

After one long, uncomfortable, frozen moment, Jack let out an exasperated little sigh and shook his head.

"Let me guess," he muttered. "You're my replacement singer for this evening, aren't you?"

Phryne extended a hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jones," she said in a very slightly more nasally version of her usual voice. "Although," she added, dropping the accent again, "I'm not really sure what name to use, anymore. I was planning to go with 'Evelyn,' actually, but as it seems to be an evening of dredging up old aliases, perhaps I'll use 'Pearl' after all. Pearl Porter, Mr. Jones, and it's a pleasure to re-make your acquaintance."

Again, she offered the hand, and again, Jack completely ignored it.

"The name suits you, Miss Porter," he mumbled.

Phryne fingered the pearl neckline of her dress. "You noticed. I'd hoped you would."

 _Of course I noticed,_ thought Jack, forcing his eyes away from Phryne's daring neckline.  _That's why you're wearing the thing, isn't it? So you stand out in a crowd. You needn't bother, Phryne; you'd stand out in a crowd even if you wore a burlap sack. Anyone can feel the way the air changes when you walk into a room. The whole goddamned world takes notice._

"How the hell," demanded Jack, "did you find out? I haven't spoken to anyone about this lead; not even Collins. Not even the commissioner himself knows that I'm here. How can it be possible that a private detective with no further police connections to speak of could possibly have found me out? Don't tell me that she called you in, too."

"He, Jack," corrected Phryne, raising an eyebrow at him.

"He?" Pausing for a moment, Jack frowned and gave Phryne a long, uncertain look.

"Yes," agreed Phryne. "He prefers 'he.' Go on, Jack, try to be the liberal-minded man that you're so proud to claim that you are. He thinks you're in his corner, in any case. Don't disappoint him."

Aware that something definitely didn't make sense about this exchange, Jack frowned.

"Why exactly," he asked, a bit more quietly, "are you here, Miss Fisher?"

Phryne shrugged.

"I've been retained by your clarinetist,  _Archie,_ " she said, with the same hint of teasing malice in her voice as she went out of her way to use his assumed name. "Apparently someone's been playing nasty tricks on him, although I'm afraid that I'm under promise to preserve my client's confidentiality in this rather delicate case. So sorry."

Jack's eyes narrowed.

"Those photographs of poor Charlie," he muttered. "Oh. I see."

Phryne looked surprised. "You know about them?"

"It's been all over the club," replied Jack, shrugging. "They were posted up on the wall here for everyone to see; you couldn't help knowing. Yesterday's contribution was particularly nasty; I'm the one who took it down in the first place."

Phryne nodded.

"Charlie seems rather fond of you," she said. "He tells me that you're 'the right kind.'"

"I'm flattered," muttered Jack, "although considering what it seems he's had to deal with lately, I imagine that he holds a relatively low standard for who the right sort of people are."

"Nevertheless," Phryne insisted, "he thinks you're on his side…which leads to me ask, Jack, since you apparently already knew that this sort of thing was going on; why haven't you done anything about it? Why not put your tried and trained police procedural skills to work and help out a poor struggling musician whom the world rejects for no better reason than for the fact that he doesn't care to be the woman they'd prefer him to be?"

Jack sighed.

"As I said," he began, forcing patience into his voice, "I've been busy."

Phryne just raised an eyebrow at him.

"And what exactly," she demanded, "has kept you so intensely occupied that you haven't even been able to spare a moment for a troubled young man who obviously looks up to you?"

She challenged him with her eyes, and Jack found, as always, that much as he knew he had every right to reject or even to ignore that challenge, he was already too captivated by that accusing look to put up much of a fight.

"I'm afraid," he said quietly, "that my business here is confidential."

Phryne frowned.

"I showed you mine," she reminded him.

"I never asked you to," retorted Jack.

"Yes," countered Phryne. "As a matter of fact, you did. Besides, how exactly do you expect me to help you find whatever it is you're looking for if you won't fill me in on the details? If I'm to be a good partner, I need to remain in the loop."

She flashed him a smile, and Jack looked away, dully aching for more of her smiles and wishing, at the same time, that she'd stop.

"You're not a good partner," he reminded her seriously. "You're not any kind of partner at all, in fact. I believe you were the one who made it so irrevocably clear in the first place that a long-term partnership simply isn't in our future."

Phryne's smile slipped off her face, and she stared at him with lips slightly parted for a moment, all the teasing and the challenge fading away.

"Jack," she began softly and just a bit reproachfully. "Did you really have to-?"

"Yes," interrupted Jack, "I'm afraid I did. No more games, remember? Do me the favor of trying to honor that commitment, at least."

For once in her life, Phryne didn't seem to know what to say.

Jack took a deep breath and rubbed wearily at his temple.

"Now, to answer your earlier question," he muttered, "about Mr. Taylor; I never said that I hadn't done anything about the photographs. If you'll cool your righteous indignation for a few minutes, then I'd be happy to give you any information you like on the people in this club whom I feel are our most likely suspects. It would be my pleasure to see you catch the culprit, since, as you say, I seem to have missed my opportunity to catch him myself."

"Thank you," murmured Phryne. "Perhaps our partnership isn't so entirely dead after all, then."

Jack chose not to comment on that one.

"In the meantime, however," he began, turning his attention back to the piano. "People are starting to stare. I don't suppose, Miss Porter that you'd care to join me in a song?"

Swallowing, Phryne forced a small smile and nodded.

"It would be my pleasure, Mr. Jones," she replied quietly.

Jack just nodded.

"Archie," asked Phryne suddenly, "do you still remember 'Let's Misbehave?'"

Against his will, Jack remembered all too well the magical evening that he and Phryne had spent together at the Hotel Grand, swaying along with what Phryne had then dubbed 'their song,' and getting lost for just a few precious hours in how holding each other seemed to have become the easiest, most natural thing in the world.

"No," replied Jack curtly, shutting his eyes for a moment. "No, I'm afraid I can't recall that one."

Phryne shook her head at him.

"I'm sure you do," she insisted. "You play it so well."

"Phryne," began Jack warningly.

"Pearl," she correctly him gently. "Play it, won't you? Just for me? I'd like to hear it again…just one more time."

For a moment, Jack thought about admonishing her for continuing to tease him, even when they both knew that that ship had sailed. When he looked into her eyes, however, Jack couldn't find a hint of teasing or malicious glee in the way she was watching him. Instead, she just looked a little bit lonely.

Opening his mouth to respond, Jack found that he couldn't think of a thing to say. Resignedly, he settled his hands on the keys again and began to play, careful to fix his attention on anything but Phryne's face.

"We're all alone," murmured Phryne as the music began. "No chaperone to get our number. The world's in slumber…let's misbehave."

"There's something wild," Jack heard himself start to sing with a lump constricting his throat, "about you child that's so contagious. Let's be outrageous…let's misbehave."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack caught Phryne's sad sort of smile.

"When Adam won Eve's hand he wouldn't stand for teasing," they sang together. "He didn't care about those apples out of season."

"They say that spring means just one thing to little lovebirds," continued Phryne alone. "We're not above birds,"

"Let's misbehave," murmured Jack.

As Jack continued to play, there were shouts and whoops from the audience at the surrounding tables.

Phryne inched a little closer to the bench, and when she reached out for the glass sitting on top of the piano, her hand brushed against Jack's shoulder.

Suddenly alarmed that the jig would be up if Phryne went for his drink, Jack caught her hand before she could reach the glass.

Startled, she turned to look at him, and for just a moment, with Phryne's hand held just a bit too tightly in his, Jack's mind went blank and his fingers stalled on the keys.

Then Phryne snatched her hand away, Jack continued to play, and the moment was over, but the lump in his throat had turned into an ache in his chest, and Phryne had to sing the rest of the verses without him.

* * *

The evening wore on for hours.

After Jack and Phryne had done a few songs together, they were given a brief break during which Charlie took the stage to play a few numbers on his clarinet.

"He's good," remarked Phryne as she and Jack left the stage and headed over to join Dr. MacMillan at a corner table. "Care to dance, Archie?"

"No," said Jack simply. "I'd rather not."

Phryne sighed, shrugged, and then turned to Dr. MacMillan.

"How about you, Mac?" She smiled. "Dance with me. Let's give them something to talk about in this club more scintillating than Charlie's shirtfront, shall we?"

Dr. MacMillan snorted a laugh.

"Tempting," she admitted, "but I'm enjoying the music, just at the moment. Don't you have a job to do here, anyway?"

Phryne made a face at her, then turned back to Jack.

"That's right," she agreed, slipping into a seat alongside the doctor and waiting for Jack to do the same. "You promised me, Jack, that you'd tell me all about the usual suspects; the people most likely to be picking on our Mr. Taylor. If you're not going to tell me what you're really doing here, then let's at least talk about that."

Jack, carefully edging his seat a few inches farther away from Phryne's, sat down.

"Very well," he agreed. "I'm sure you've already figured out that we're most likely looking for a woman."

"Because of the photograph taken in the ladies room, yes," replied Phryne.

Jack nodded.

"There are two women in particular that I think might fit our bill," he explained, leaning back a little in his chair and discreetly drawing Phryne's attention to the stage where a petite, freckled doe-eyed young lady was standing just a little too close and raptly watching Charlie play.

"That's Isla Clark," he told her. "She's a regular. Been here every night since I arrived, always right when we open at six o'clock. She's only eighteen and apparently she's bound for University in the fall, although she's happy to tell anyone who'll listen that she's going to tell her father she refuses to go."

"Not the academic type, then," murmured Phryne. "I hope that Jane hasn't yet given up her dream of going to University. I think she'd thrive in ancient studies; I really do."

"I couldn't agree more," muttered Jack. "Let's not forget that if it hadn't been for Jane's extensive knowledge about the art of Ancient Egyptian burial, it's likely that neither you nor I would be alive today."

Phryne gave him an amused sort of look.

"It's not like you to go in for sentimental reminiscing," he taunted him.

As usual, Jack ignored the jibe.

"Anyway," Phryne went on, "Miss Clark certainly doesn't look as though she could mean Mr. Taylor any harm. Just look at the way she's gazing at him. The poor thing's absolutely mesmerized…either by the playing or by the man. Perhaps both."

"Yes," agreed Jack grimly. "I'm aware, and so is Charlie. Apparently a few weeks ago she made an overture, and he…well, let's just say he let her down just a little less gently than I think she would have liked."

"Oh." Phryne frowned. "A jilted lover, then, possibly seeking revenge to ease a broken heart?"

 _It doesn't work,_ thought Jack.  _There's no amount of pain she can cause him that'll make her start hurting any less. That's not how it works. It's just isn't that easy._

"It's possible," he said aloud. "She's got something of a motive, anyway, and she's been here enough to have had the time and opportunity."

Phryne only nodded.

"All right," she asked. "Then who's our other potential femme fatale?"

Conveniently, at that moment, a voluptuous brunette waitress walked by carrying a tray full of glasses.

"That's her," said Jack, pointing at the waitress. "Tara Todd, Mr. Cecil Todd's wife. He's the owner and manager of this club, and she's…well, I guess you could call her his right hand woman. If you left it to me, then I'd say that she's the more probable suspect. According to after-hours gossip, she's never been Charlie Taylor's biggest fan."

They both watched as Tara Todd stopped at a table to slip a drink off her tray, and a then a whispered word into the ear of one of the male patrons, who gave her a grin in return.

"Apparently she doesn't like anything that draws too much negative attention to the club," Jack went on, "and of course Charlie Taylor's choices have aroused a bit of comment. She could be trying to scare him off."

"But he plays like a dream," insisted Phryne. "A musician like him is more of an asset, surely."

"It's a matter of opinion," returned Jack. "Some people don't like the idea of being entertained by a...well, by a man who-!"

"By a gentleman," finished Phryne, "who refuses to be a proper lady."

"Exactly," agreed Jack, a little relieved. "That's it."

"You think Mrs. Todd is one of those people?" Phryne was now watching as Mrs. Todd moved through another cluster of tables, making sure to drop and a word and a smile every time she passed a client.

"I think," suggested Jack, "that Mrs. Todd knows several people who feel that way, and that she wants to make sure she doesn't lose their patronage. The attitude makes sense, from a business standpoint."

"I'm not entirely sure that any business concerns justify torture, Inspector," snapped Dr. MacMillan, speaking up for the first time. "That's what it is, you know. She's torturing him."

"Why not just find another reason to fire Charlie, then, if she's so desperate to get rid of him?" Phryne shook her head. "No doubt that would be easier than taking the time to smoke him out with embarrassing pictures."

"He's got plenty of fans, like that Isla Clark," MacMillan reminded them. "It'd be harder to get rid of Charlie than you'd think. If she sacked him, some of us would have things to say about it."

"So," murmured Phryne, "she's in a delicate position. Yes…I think I understand, Jack, why you find her the more attractive suspect."

Something in Phryne's tone alerted Jack to the danger, and when he turned to face her again she was watching him very carefully.

"Tara Todd is," added Phryne, "a very attractive woman, don't you think?"

"It's no use, Miss Fisher," mumbled Jack. "I will absolutely not rise to your bait."

He returned his attention to the stage, where Charlie was still playing.

"It's already after midnight," remarked Dr. MacMillan after they'd all spent awhile listening to Charlie's swinging clarinet rendition of "Ain't Misbehavin."

"He's following up on our theme, Jack," said Phryne. "This must be the grand finale, I suppose. The club closes down in a few minutes."

"And we," sighed Dr. MacMillan, "don't appear to be any closer to solving the mystery of the dirty photographs."

Phryne shook her head.

"Quite the opposite," she said. "I think we have everything we need to solve the case, now, Dr. Watson. We have our two most likely suspects, as well as the motives and the setting all in place. Now all we need is an opportunity to catch our ugly-minded little photographer in the incriminating act..."

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

I've now been awake for a number of hours, and I think it's time for me to go back and sleep again in preparation for another round of what Miss Fisher might refer to as a 'gaudy night.' Gaudy is the word. Bring me Monday, lord, please.

I need another hour of sleep, to finish dying my hair, to go over all of my high-school review notes on the processes of meiosis and mitosis, and to go run on the treadmill for an hour.

By the time I'm done with all that, maybe I'll be ready to churn out another chapter. Let's see.


	4. Chapter Three: In the Still of the Night

**Author's Note:** Yesterday did not go according to plan. Very shortly after posting the previous chapter, I walked upstairs to find that my beloved guinea pig, Rosalie, was struggling to breathe. I rushed her to the local exotics vet, but over the course of the next few hours they discovered that she had an untreatable tumor. I had to put her to sleep a few minutes ago.

It may seem silly to some, but I really loved that piggy. She was a present from G on my birthday years ago, and we've moved houses together like four times. She's visited all of my classrooms and has played patiently with all of my students, and never bit a single one once. We were very close. I'm deeply depressed.

I'm writing now to try and ease the ache a little bit. I just need something to take my mind off my piggy. I apologize if the chapter isn't up to par. I promise to sort it out later if it's really terrible. Thanks.

* * *

**Chapter Three: In the Still of the Night**

Closing time had finally come, and most of the patrons were slowly filtering out of the club, some leaning on each other as they went, too inebriated to find their own way unaided to the door.

"She probably does it after everyone else is gone" murmured Phryne thoughtfully, glancing over her shoulder at where Tara Todd was cleaning up behind the bar. "Or perhaps in the early morning, before everyone else arrives for the night. Either way, we'll likely have to resort to unusual methods if we're going to catch her in the act, Charlie."

Charlie frowned. "Oh, uh, yeah? What sort of 'unusual methods' exactly, Miss Fisher?"

Mac frowned.

"Phryne," she accused, "you're planning on staking out the place, aren't you?"

Phryne shrugged.

"What better way," she asked reasonably, "to catch a sneaky torturer, Mac?"

Charlie just shook his head.

"It'll never work, Miss," he assured her. "Mr. Todd would never-!"

"We're not going to tell Mr. Todd," interrupted Phryne. "We don't want to take the risk that the lovely Mrs. Todd might find out what we're up to, of course."

Charlie shot her a wary sort of look. "Then, uh, how exactly are you planning on making this work, Miss? I don't really feel comfortable risking my spot by letting you in after hours if the boss hasn't given the okay. I'm not trying to difficult or anything, but-!"

"No one, "Phryne assured him, "is going to have to risk anything, and I don't expect that anyone will have to let me in. It's really very simple. I'll just go hide out in the infamous ladies room, or somewhere, until everyone else is gone, and then I'll have the whole club to myself until the culprit shows her face. I assume that someone will show up eventually to pin up one of those tasteless pictures, and then we'll have the answer to our puzzle, and you can finally get a break."

"Uh," mumbled Charlie doubtfully.

"Oh come on, Charlie," insisted Phryne, raising an eyebrow at him. "You sought me out in the first place because you wanted this cruelty stopped, didn't you? You claim that I have a reputation for being a 'big-shot lady detective,' and I promise you that I didn't earn that reputation by refusing to take unconventional risks. What's the worst that could happen? The management could find me and throw me back out, that's all. Possibly they may call the police, in which case I'll have some explaining to do to a certain Inspector Robinson, but I've no doubt that I can handle him."

"He probably won't be surprised," muttered Mac.

Frowning, Phryne glanced around and discovered that Jack himself was nowhere to be found. The entire club, in fact, had almost emptied out.

"Mac," she asked, "Where is Jack, anyway?"

Mac shrugged. "I assume he left with everyone else."

"Without saying goodbye?" Phryne did her best not to look as disappointed as she suddenly felt. "That's not like him."

"He probably just needed to go and lick his wounds somewhere safe and quiet, and far away from you" Mac assured her. "I'm not sure if you noticed the look on his face when you went waltzing up to that piano, but I think you were the very last vice he was expecting to indulge in tonight. I wouldn't have said he was exactly pleased to see you."

"Jack," returned Phryne staunchly, "isn't in the habit of indulging in any kind of vice to any serious extent."

"Isn't he?" Mac gave Phryne a grim smile. "Tell me this, then; did you get a chance to smell whatever it was he was he had in that glass on the piano? I did."

Charlie fidgeted uncomfortably with the cuff of his shirt, and Phryne's frown deepened.

"Jack would never drink on the job," she reminded her friend. "It's not his style."

Mac shrugged. "I don't know what he would or wouldn't do; I only know what I'm sure he did. Anyway, whatever job this is isn't technically an official police job, if the commissioner doesn't even know about it, so I don't think we can say that Inspector Robinson has broken any actual bans. What do you suppose he was really here for, anyway? I didn't know that detective inspectors did much moonlighting."

Phryne, however, wasn't really listening anymore. Instead, she was trying to remember if she'd noticed Jack fill up his glass at all while they were singing.

 _I never saw him actually refill it,_ she mused,  _and yet it was somehow constantly full. Was he waiting until my back was turned? That certainly doesn't bode well. There wouldn't be any reason to try and hide a glass of plain water. Jack, what have you gotten yourself into?_

She sighed.

"Don't despair," suggested Mac. "It's probably not entirely your fault. I'd hazard a guess, though that 'cherchez la femme' for once really does have something to do with it. You're the only femme fatale I can think of for whom the Inspector has ever had eyes."

"I hope that wasn't supposed to make me feel better," muttered Phryne.

Charlie looked startled.

"Wait, Miss," he began hesitantly. "You're…you're the girl? I mean, are you-? No,  _were_  you Mr. Jones' girl?"

"I have never," retorted Phryne softly, "been anyone's girl; not Archie Jones' or anyone else's.

Charlie just continued to gape at her.

" I think," suggested Phryne, " that that's quite enough speculation on that score, don't you? After all, we're in the midst of planning a stakeout."

"Uh, for the record, I still think this is a bad idea," began Charlie.

"Nonsense," retorted Phryne. "Charlie, go over and start chatting up Mrs. Todd for me while I freshen up in the ladies. See you in the morning, Mac!"

"Only if you get lucky," returned Mac. "What if our culprit doesn't decide to start playing her pranks again until tomorrow mid-afternoon?"

"In that case," said Phryne, "I hope I can find some unlocked snacks behind the bar. Perhaps Mr. Taylor would be kind enough to bring me a sandwich when he shows up early to tune his clarinet?"

Charlie sighed.

"You don't have to tune a clarinet," he told her. "Not every day, anyway. No offense meant, Miss Fisher, but I'm pretty sure you're nuts."

"I'm pretty sure you're right," agreed Mac. "Go on, Charlie. Do as the lady detective says."

Still grumbling to himself, Charlie started over to the bar where Mr. and Mrs. Todd were deep in conversation with the bartender and one of the waiters.

"You sure you're all right?" Mac made a face at Phryne after Charlie had gone. "This doesn't sound like a lot of fun."

"On the contrary," said Phryne, smiling. "I think it's exactly the sort of unconventional excitement that I so sorely need right now. Lately I've been so unbelievably listless, Mac. Everything just feels dreary. I need to do something ill-advised before I bore myself to death."

Mac gave Phryne a long, searching sort of frown, then slowly shook her head.

"You're as bad as each other," she muttered. "You and your charming Inspector, I mean. You're both useless. The one's becoming a drunk, and now you're an adrenaline junkie."

"When," demanded Phryne, "have I ever not been one?"

Mac ignored that.

"I don't suppose it's ever occurred to either of you," she suggested, "that you might try getting all this sexual angst out of your system the old fashioned way?"

"Oh, it's definitely occurred to me," sighed Phryne. "Sometimes it occurs to me in delectably rich detail. Still, again, that's not really Jack's style. I'm afraid that simply 'getting it out of our systems' is just a bit beyond his ken."

Mac threw up her hands in exasperation.

"Besides," mused Phryne, perhaps more to herself than to Mac at all. "It may be too late for that, now. We seem to have drifted away from mercifully simple sexual angst and into much deeper, more dangerously emotional waters."

Mac looked impressed. "Really. Really? I mean…I knew that he'd already taken the plunge, but…wait, are we talking about just him, or-?"

"Goodnight, Mac," murmured Phryne. "Time for me to take up my post."

She shot Mac a quick smile, then turned around and strode off in the direction of the women's bathroom before Mac could find the opportunity to ask anymore incredibly uncomfortable questions.

 _She is right about one thing,_ thought Phryne just before slipping through the bathroom door and concealing herself carefully in a deserted stall.  _Jack and I really are both making about as big of a mess of this as we possibly can. Perhaps it's all just an extension of our favorite game; which one of us can be more extravagantly, more ridiculously, more obnoxiously lovesick? I'm going to have to put a stop to that before this gets any more out of hand._

Settling down on the bathroom floor, Phryne sighed to herself, shut her eyes for a moment, and waited in silence, listening hard for the telltale sounds of shutting doors outside.

* * *

Everything, apparently, went according to plan. After a few minutes someone stepped in, switched off the bathroom light and then shut the door behind himself again, leaving Phryne alone. She heard the sounds of shuffling feet, the slamming of large double doors, and then there was perfect silence all through the club.

Emerging from the stall, Phryne carefully crept out of the bathroom and back into the darkened, mercifully deserted hallway.

Even as Phryne was standing there surveying the corridor, however, the door to the adjacent men's bathroom suddenly began to creak open behind her. .

Startled, Phryne shoved her hand into her handbag to rummage for her pistol. At the very same moment, Inspector Jack Robinson emerged from the men's bathroom, still dressed up as Archie Jones in a now slightly rumbled brown suit and with just the slightest trace of too much alcohol in his eyes.

"Jack," gasped Phryne, dropping the pistol back into her bag.

Jack turned, noticed her, and stared.

"What the hell," he demanded, "are you doing, Miss Fisher?"

"I could ask you the very same thing," retorted Phryne. "Why were you hiding in the bathroom?"

"I wasn't hiding," countered Jack. "I'm here on an important police business."

"Important police business," returned Phryne, raising an eyebrow, "which no one else on the force apparently knows about. Isn't that right, Archie Jones?"

Jack took a deep breath.

"It's a very delicate matter," he told her patiently. "I would very much appreciate it if for once in our association you'd respect my wishes and refrain from getting involved."

"Jack," began Phryne.

"If you won't listen," added Jack before Phryne could get much farther, "then I'll simply have to have you thrown out."

"Oh, yes?" Phryne snorted a laugh. "You and what army, Jack? Or have you forgotten that you're here entirely on your own, since apparently you deemed this little mission of yours too confidential even to share with your own senior constable."

Jack cleared his throat.

"I believe that I've proven before that I'm more than a match for you physically in a one-on-one setting," he muttered. "I don't want you to take that as a threat."

"It is a threat," countered Phryne. "And in any case, I highly doubt you're anything close to a match for me when you're half-drunk."

That seemed to startle Jack out of his stride, and he stopped for a moment with his mouth hanging open in surprise.

"Um," he began. "I'm not…"

Phryne sighed and shook her head.

"This is silly," she said. "Why are we doing this?"

"It's what we do best," mumbled Jack sarcastically. "Why stop now?"

"Because you're in pain," she told him, him looking him seriously in the eye. "I'm not here to hurt you, Jack. Honestly, if I'd known that you were in the middle of an investigation, I would never have come."

Jack's face fell. "Wouldn't you?"

"No," repeated Phryne, "I wouldn't. I'm not actually trying to torture you, Jack; really I'm not. I'm not chasing you around for mine or anyone else's amusement."

Jack said nothing, managing to look somehow disappointed and yet still vaguely self-righteous at the same time.

"I'm here on a job," Phryne informed him, "and unfortunately I won't be giving up on that job, even for your sorry sake. We're going to have to make the best of this, whether we like it or not. With any luck, it'll all be over soon."

"I'm sorry," managed Jack.

Phryne turned away, not sure how much more of that dejected, slightly lost look in his eyes she could stand.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she assured him.

"No," insisted Jack. "I do. I'm sorry, because I can't allow you to stay at the club tonight, no matter how good the cause may be."

"Jack." Phryne looked up at him in consternation. "I already explained-!"

"It doesn't matter," interrupted Jack, holding up a hand to forestall her. "I wasn't exaggerating when I told you that I was here on serious police business. The Three Brothers club isn't a safe place to be, tonight; not for you or for anyone else."

Phryne frowned.

"You're here on  _dangerous_  police business, then," she said.

"Yes," agreed Jack. "I'm afraid so."

"By yourself," she added. "And you're drunk."

Jack made an exasperated little sound in his throat.

"I am not drunk," he informed her, "and yes, I'm planning on conducting this investigation on my own…without you."

Phryne shook her head impatiently at him.

"This has gone far beyond whether you're doing it with or without me," she informed him. "If your 'serious police matter' is really all that dangerous, then I can't imagine why you're here without backup. Where is Hugh really, Jack?"

Jack shrugged.

"Apparently," he sighed, "Hugh is out today on personal business. He left a message at the station."

"Well that doesn't sound at all like him," replied Phryne.

"No," agreed Jack bitterly, "but I don't suppose I can blame him. We all have our own little personal demons, Miss Fisher. Whatever Hugh's is, I can only hope that it's nothing as serious as you."

With a little sigh of resignation, he sat down on the carpet against the corridor wall. After a moment, Phryne followed suit.

"You shouldn't be here alone," said Phryne quietly.

"I want you to go," returned Jack. "Please."

Phryne raised an eyebrow. "You don't  _need_  me to go this time?"

It took a moment for Jack to answer that one.

"No," he muttered eventually. "No, I think…I think what I need you to do is stay."

Phryne's heart gave an uncomfortable lurch.

"But," continued Jack, "you've already made it perfectly clear that that won't be possible, and I'm not a man to keep imposing his company where his attentions are clearly unwanted."

"You've got it wrong," she whispered. "In my case, it's all reversed. I always want you, Jack. It's only that I need-!"

The sound of the front doors swinging open cut Phryne off mid-sentence, and Jack's hand closed convulsively around her wrist as he pulled her back farther into the shadows of the corridor. Startled, she stumbled back against him and ended up with her back pressed up against his chest. Carefully, Jack disentangled his arm from hers, but Phryne could still feel his heart beat reverberating through her.

For several long moments, neither of them made a sound. Then, very carefully, Jack slipped out from behind Phryne and started in the direction of the noise.

"Stay here," he ordered her over his shoulder.

"Not likely," whispered Phryne, falling into step behind him.

Together they made their way as quietly as they could back to the main lounge.

As far as Phryne could tell, however, nobody was there. Not a single piece of furniture even looked out of place.

"Empty," she whispered.

Jack shook his head. "We did hear someone come in," he insisted.

"Or," suggested Phryne, "perhaps what we actually heard was someone going out."

"There wasn't anyone else here," Jack reminded her.

Phryne shrugged. "We're still here. Logically if we could hide in the bathroom, then so could anybody else. Let's be sure, though. I'm going to check the kitchens."

"Phryne," hissed Jack, but it was too late. Phryne had already started off towards the kitchens, and before he'd reached her she'd already pulled open the kitchen door. What she found there, lying on the floor, was far from a pretty sight.

Sprawled out on her stomach with her knees buckled under her was Tara Todd, still dressed in her hostess' apron. The apron strings were soaked through with blood, although due to the way Tara was positioned Phryne couldn't immediately find the wound.

"Dammit," snarled Jack, coming up behind Phryne. "How the hell could this happen? If anyone else had been here, I should have known it."

"We were a little distracted," murmured Phryne, frowning. "If you'd like to blame me, then I'll let you, this once. To be fair, though if you'd just told me that we were here to try and prevent a murder, then I might have been a little better equipped to assist."

Jack ignored that.

Dropping down to his knees, Jack took his pocket handkerchief and very carefully wrapped it around Mrs. Todd's right wrist, gingerly turning her hand over to reveal something crumpled up inside it.

"A photograph," whispered Phryne.

"Looks like you've solved your case," muttered Jack. "Well done, Miss Fisher. Another successful crime solved."

"This really doesn't seem like the time for charming sarcasm, does it, Jack?" Phryne pursed her lips. "I assume, since you were apparently waiting here to prevent it, that you think you already know who might have killed Tara?"

"I wasn't precisely waiting here to stop a murder," returned Jack, sounding deeply frustrated. "But…yes, if you must know, then I'm afraid I know exactly who our killer is, this time. Unfortunately for us, I think that you're right. I think we've already heard him leave."

* * *

 **Author's End Note:** I guess that wasn't quite as bad as I was expecting. I'll do better next time. Time for work, now.

 


	5. Chapter Four: Night and Day

**Author's Note:** Day three. Still grieving. My writing is still shit today, and for that I am deeply sorry. I'll do better, I promise. I've been watching Season 2 to try and get the characters right, but they just aren't coming.

However, it was apparently someone's birthday yesterday!

Whomever the lovely guest reviewer is who left the comment on my most recent chapter, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I'm afraid that all I have to give you is another update, but I hope you had a lovely, magical, perfect birthday.

This chapter is for you!

* * *

**Chapter Four: Night and Day**

"So," demanded Phryne, "are you going to tell me what's really going on here, or not?"

She and Jack were seated on the sofa in the main lounge of the Three Brothers, waiting for the backup that Jack had just summoned by telephone from the City South station.

They'd been waiting, in fact, for almost an hour already, and Jack could feel himself beginning to struggle against the effects of the four…no, maybe five drinks that he'd had during his piano routine. He was having a hard time maintaining his professional composure in the face of the dizziness and the now almost overwhelming desire to sleep. Embarrassed and deeply annoyed with himself, he cleared his throat and sat up straighter, taking a deep breath and willing his head to unfog.

In the kitchen, the still carefully untouched body of Tara Todd was beginning to cool.

"I am not," muttered Jack. "I thought I'd made that clear already."

Phryne just shrugged.

"Oh, very well," she sighed, "but if you really refuse to keep me fully informed, Jack, then I can't be expected to properly back you up when the police arrive."

"What?" Jack frowned. "What do you mean, 'back me up?'

"I may not be able to give you your alibi," returned Phryne matter-of-factly. "Naturally you're expecting me to tell the police that you and I were together the whole time we were here, and that you therefore couldn't possibly be our cold-blooded killer…but honestly, Jack, all this secrecy is just a little too suspicious, and we  _were_  away from each other for a few minute around midnight. If I'm being honest, then I'm afraid that until you give me some reason to trust you again, I just won't feel comfortable being your excuse."

She flashed him a perfectly innocent look, then winked. Jack found that her frankly inappropriate joie-de-vivre was just a little too infectious, and that he suddenly felt dangerously almost like smiling.

The combination of adrenaline, alcohol and the intoxicating, infuriating presence of Miss Phryne Fisher had to begun to work its delirious magic, and Jack was now tired, a bit lightheaded and inappropriately giddy in the presence of a bleeding corpse.

_This,_ thought Jack wearily, as his head begun to ache,  _is turning into a very bizarre night._

"Let's not forget that you're the one with the motive," Jack reminded Phryne. "Our murder victim was tormenting your client. If anyone needs an alibi, then it's you, Miss Fisher. I'd have had no reason to kill Mrs. Todd."

"So you say," retorted Phryne, "but you're obviously hiding something. How can I be sure that whatever you're refusing to tell me won't constitute a motive for murder?"

"You'll have to take my word for it," said Jack.

"That won't be enough for me, Jack," returned Phryne. "I'll need some more concrete evidence. You can start with an explanation of the moonlighting, and of the reappearance of Archibald Jones….and you can tell me all about your new uncharacteristic penchant for whisky at work, while you're at it."

Even in his vaguely tipsy and overtaxed state, Jack felt the subtle change in the atmosphere between them.

"The drinking," he muttered, frowning at her and sobering up a little in the face of the serious look she was suddenly giving him.

"Yes," said Phryne quietly, no longer making any pretext at being coy. "The drinking, Jack. It's never a good sign when you start drinking alone."

"I'm not alone," retorted Jack. "You've gone out of your way to make sure of that."

"Then why," murmured Phryne, "do you look so terribly lonely?"

He didn't have an immediate response to that, and when Phryne reached out to lay a hand on his arm, he felt the shiver run up through his shoulder and shoot straight down his spine.

Almost immediately she pulled her hand back again.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "Old habits are hard to break. You know I've never been one to deny an instinct."

Jack found that he no longer felt anything like smiling, although now his forearm was tingling where he wished Phryne had touched it, and he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from her face.

"And what," he heard himself ask, "are your instincts telling you to do now, exactly?"

Phryne just gave him a tight-lipped smile, but she didn't rise to the bait and only raised an eyebrow, leaving Jack feeling a little foolish.

"Tell me, Jack" she repeated. "Please. Whatever this is, let me help you with it. Charlie Taylor says that you've been undercover here for almost three weeks. I refuse to believe that it's all been just an attempt to distract yourself from lost love, no matter what Mac says."

"You may have to accept at least some of the credit," mumbled Jack.

Phryne ignored him.

"You're obviously burning the candle at both ends," she said quietly, "and look what it's doing to you. I distinctly remember a certain dashing police inspector telling me, only a few weeks ago, that if I ever needed anything, all I had to do was ask and he'd be there."

"I remember," said Jack simply.

Phryne nodded.

"All I ask," she finished, "is for a chance to return the favor. Tell me, Jack."

Sitting back on the sofa, Phryne waited, watching Jack expectantly. This time there wasn't any hint of a challenge in her face, and somehow Jack found that her sincerity only made it all the worse.

Just as it always did, Jack's resistance shattered. He'd known it would.

"I didn't want you to know," he muttered.

"I can see that," countered Phryne, but Jack just shook his head.

"No," he insisted. "It's got nothing to do with…with us. I didn't want you to find out because I didn't want you to have to worry about it anymore. I just wanted you to forget. I wanted the nightmare to be over."

Startled, Phryne's eyes went wide.

"The nightmare," she repeated. "Foyle…and Daniel. Jack, its Daniel, isn't it?"

Jack just nodded grimly.

"I thought you said," hissed Phryne, "that it wouldn't make any sense for Daniel to come back?"

Jack shrugged.

"I still say that it doesn't make sense," he admitted. "And maybe he hasn't come back. I'm not sure. That's why I'm here."

Phryne was still waiting with baited breath. Jack sighed.

"I got a phone call at the station about three weeks ago," he began resignedly, "from Mrs. Tara Todd. She insisted that she needed to speak urgently with me specifically; with the detective who was heading the investigation into Kelley's disappearance. She wouldn't talk over the phone and she wouldn't come into the station, so we met here, after closing time at the club."

Phryne nodded. "Go on."

Jack could see that Phryne's fingers were kneading themselves into the cushions as she clutched, probably unconsciously, at the armrest. Manfully, Jack managed this time not to reach for her hand without too much of an internal struggle, and as he forced himself to focus again, his head finally began to clear.

"As it turns out," he went on, "Mrs. Tara Todd used to be a Mrs. Tara Kelley."

"The evil ex-wife," whispered Phryne, looking startled. "Yes, he…well, he mentioned her. Not by name, of course. You're a little too close to polite company for me to risk repeating the choice epithets that Daniel did use to describe her. They're…not very complimentary, to say the least."

"Charming," muttered Jack.

Phryne shrugged. "I didn't invent them. Go on, Jack, what did Tara tell you?"

Inspired by the idea that maybe being upright would help stem the dizziness, Jack got carefully to his feet again.

"When I got here," he began slowly, "I found her alone and obviously terrified. She begged me to tell her if it was true what her friends said; that Kelley was a serial killer who'd broken out of prison and was now…I believe 'on the prowl for a third victim' was the phrase that she used."

Phryne raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," agreed Jack, "but I'm not surprised that the rumor mill has gotten a hold of the story and twisted it up. In any case, I assured her that we have no concrete evidence, at this time, to convict Daniel of either of the two murders, but that he is being suspected as an accessory."

"And of course," interrupted Phryne quietly, "I'm sure you fed her the old police adage about how 'if she knows anything, it's her civic duty to inform the police,' and that you can promise you'll do everything in your power to protect her from her crazed, allegedly murderous husband as long as she comes clean. Is that right?"

Jack frowned.

"As a matter of fact," he informed her, "she didn't need the encouragement. Mrs. Todd told me that Kelley has been telephoning her at the club twice a week ever since his disappearance. Apparently the week before she contacted me, he'd actually shown up, in person, to try and borrow money from her husband, which of course he didn't get."

"But Tara," murmured Phryne, "agreed to loan him the money on her own."

Jack just nodded.

Phryne sighed in frustration.

"Why is it," she demanded, "that so many women are so easily denuded of their better judgement by a pretty face and a set of rippling pectorals?"

Jack flinched and tried as hard as he could not to picture that.

"She knew that Daniel might as well be a murderer," continued Phryne hotly. "Now he is one. How could she lend him money? She doesn't owe him anything anymore; they haven't been married in years."

"I'm not entirely sure," countered Jack, "that the legal end of a partnership actually absolves you of all your obligations to a person. There's a reason that we say 'till death do us part.'"

"Yes," agreed Phryne, "and it's the very same reason for which I've never said it."

Jack cleared his throat.

"In any case," he went on, "she was sure that he'd be back when he needed more, and I can only assume that was why she'd decided to contact me."

Phryne nodded slowly.

"It was one thing to help a man whom she thought would be fleeing the country," she whispered, "but now that it looked like he might not be willing to leave her alone after all, she wasn't so sure anymore. She got scared."

"I think so," agreed Jack. "She and I arranged that I would keep an eye on the club, unofficially, so as not to draw Kelley's attention to any police presence."

"Hence the triumphant return of the great Archie Jones," finished Phryne. "But somehow, Daniel found out that she'd betrayed him…and now, finally, we're sure he's a killer. His third victim…the one he was 'prowling' for after all. Poor Tara."

Jack frowned.

"We can't be sure of that," he insisted, shaking his head. "Yes, I'll admit that I agree with you; there's plenty of reason to believe that Kelley killed her. Honestly, though, it's all conjecture."

"Jack," said Phryne, raising an eyebrow.

"No," insisted Jack, "It is. We don't have any proof that Kelley was ever here, other than Mrs. Todd word. There were plenty of people, apparently, who had a motive to want Mrs. Todd dead. I think we've already established that you had one."

Phryne made a face.

"And by that same token," continued Jack, "Charlie Taylor had an equally strong reason to want her out of the picture."

"That's ridiculous," countered Phryne. "Charlie had no idea that Tara was responsible for the dirty photographs."

"So he claims," returned Jack, "but again, we can't prove it. We only have his word to go on, and that's not enough."

"We know that Charlie left," Phryne insisted. "We know that there wasn't anyone else in the club but you and I-!"

"Someone was obviously here," muttered Jack through gritted teeth. "I may have been waiting for Kelley, but it could have been anyone…and let's not forget that our Mr. Taylor has a key. He could easily have let himself back in without having to hide in the bathroom."

Phryne took a quick breath.

"He likes you," she said accusingly.

Jack shrugged. "That doesn't change anything. I'll be handling this, Phryne, the same way that I'd handle any other investigation. We'll examine the evidence, we'll draw our reasonable conclusions, and we'll do our best to come up with the truth….whatever that truth may turn out to be."

"We?" Phryne raised an eyebrow.

Jack shook his head.

" _I,_ " he corrected. "You're a suspect."

"Oh don't be ridiculous," muttered Phryne.

Jack said nothing. Frowning at him, Phryne slowly shook her head.

"You don't want it to have been Daniel," she murmured.

Jack gritted his teeth.

"You don't want it to be have been Daniel," repeated Phryne, "because if it was Daniel, then you think that makes this your fault. You were here to catch Daniel, and so if it was him, then you think that means you failed her."

Jack winced.

"That's right," insisted Phryne. "Isn't it, Jack?"

"It doesn't matter what I want or don't want," muttered Jack. "The fact remains that a woman was murdered only a few feet away from where I was standing, while I was supposed to be keeping watch. Whether Kelley committed the murder or not is irrelevant. I did fail her."

"I distracted you," said Phryne, a bit more gently. "I came in and pulled you away from your post. It's my fault, Jack, not yours. You had no idea that I was going to show up and spoil everything. Neither did I."

"You've been showing up and spoiling everything for years," returned Jack quietly, "and this isn't the first time I've been distracted by you."

Phryne opened her mouth as if to say something, then shut it again quickly and frowned.

"This is however," finished Jack with a sigh, slowly sitting back down on the sofa at a safe distance from Phryne herself, "the first time that it's ever resulted in a death…as far as I know."

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

I would like to take this moment to anticipate a little bit, and to justify one of my choices here. I know that many of you don't particularly like drunk Jack, and I will admit that having an alcohol problem doesn't make him any more attractive.

I do think, though, that it's justifiable in canon. We've seen on more than one occasion in the TV series that he tends to deal with strong feelings (and particularly with strong Phryne-related feelings) by drinking just a little too much. Phryne caught him doing it in Season 2 (Blood on the Wheels?) and We see him do it in the first episode of season 3.

It's not a terribly good habit for a stoic, straight-laced police detective to get into, but I'm afraid there's plenty of evidence to indicate that Jack could go down that road if pushed far enough. In  **One Half Myself is Yours,** we pushed him.

...that is, however, as much as I can justify. The writing's still sub-par.

I'm going to go study.


	6. Chapter Five: Under My Skin

**Author's Note:** Musings about writing while re-learning the basics of valence shells and atomic mass calculations:

I guess this story is more an adventure than a true murder mystery. Yes, there is definitely a murder in it (as we've already seen), but as we already know, essentially, who committed the murder, this story is less of a "whodunit," and more of a "how do we keep him from killing us all" kind of installment (akin to some of what we see in the end of season one, I suppose.)

Don't worry, we'll return to the classic mystery style in future stories.

* * *

**Chapter Five: Under My Skin**

When the rest of the police finally did arrive at the club, it was already after two o'clock in the morning. Phryne and Jack both gave their statements of what had occurred, and then, at Jack's urging, Phryne was told that she could go home and get what was left of a night's sleep, assuming she'd be ready to turn up at the station to answer questions the following day.

Relieved, Phryne allowed Jack to escort her out to the Hispano-Suiza. He stood watching her as she pulled the car around the corner, and she found herself feeling a bit guilty about leaving him all alone with the paperwork and to be interrogated by his own men, possibly for hours.

_No doubt it's a little easier for him without me there,_ she reminded herself, trying and failing not to feel more than just a little disappointed about it.  _He's feeling guilty enough about failing to catch Daniel in the act, irrational as that obviously is. It's probably best for me to make myself scarce. I'll see plenty of him in the morning, after all, and I'm sure we'll both be better off when he's sober and has his wits about him. When was the last time I was called in for police questioning? I can't honestly say that I remember…_

She cruised around streets and down deserted lanes, feeling the night wind in her hair and trying to let it be an exhilarating experience, but the uncomfortable atmosphere of the club and unhappy recollections of a debased Jack lingered in the back of her mind and kept her from feeling too free.

When she finally did get home, everyone else was, of course, fast asleep. Unlocking the front door, she collapsed for a moment on the sofa in the drawing room and found herself wondering if she didn't just want to sleep right then and there, still in her now slightly crumpled cocktail dress.

Phryne was so deeply exhausted from the evening's unexpectedly emotional ordeal that for several minutes she didn't even notice the man seated silently in the corner of the room on one of her high-backed chairs.

It was only when something metallic flashed in the corner of her vision that she turned sharply and saw him, sitting hunched over with his legs spread wide, eyeing her out of the shadows.

"Welcome home, Phryne darling," growled Daniel Kelley, shifting his weight against the back of the chair and giving her a slightly more haggard, far less come-hither version of his trademark wolfish smile.

Phryne froze, and her heart started pounding painfully in her chest.

Very slowly, very carefully, she turned around to face him and saw that the glint of metal she'd just barely caught had come from the barrel of the pistol that Daniel had leveled at her throat.

"You were out late," remarked Daniel. "Did you have a good time?"

"You know perfectly well where I was," murmured Phryne, careful to keep her voice calm and level. "What do you want, Daniel?"

Daniel snorted a gruff sort of laugh.

"Is that any way," he asked, "to greet an old lover?"

Phryne shrugged, still keeping her eyes fixed on his face rather than on the uncomfortable proximity of the barrel of his gun.

"It's the only way to greet a murderer," she told him coolly.

"Hah," muttered Daniel derisively. "I never killed anyone."

"No," agreed Phryne quietly. "You hadn't, before. I suppose Sadie was the one with all the big, romantic ideas about destroying the evidence and starting a new life together, wasn't she? You were only along for the ride."

At the sound of Sadie's name, Daniel's face twitched for a moment, and then his grin slowly got uglier, and much less friendly.

"But now," Phryne went on, "you really have done it, haven't you? I know what you did to Tara…obviously. I was there. I'm sure you were aware of it."

"You can't prove a damn thing," whispered Daniel venomously.

"Jack will," Phryne assured him. "He won't stop until he's hunted you down."

"Jack," hissed Daniel slowly, shaking his head. "Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, is that right?"

Something about the subtle change in Daniel's tone sent an ugly shiver down Phryne's spine.

"It's his fault, you know," Daniel went on casually. "That Tara's dead, I mean. Wouldn't have had any reason to hurt her if your precious Inspector Jack hadn't convinced her to give me up. I'm not a madman, Phryne. I don't just kill people for a laugh. There's gotta be a reason. Your Inspector Jack's just gotta quit giving me reasons. That's all."

Phryne stared at the scar above Daniel's left eye where a head wound was still healing, and she listened to the strain in his voice and the way it almost cracked every time he spat out Jack's name.

"I don't believe you," she whispered. "I think you absolutely have gone mad. The Daniel Kelley I used to know wouldn't have-!"

"Let's get one thing straight," interrupted Daniel, shaking his head and leaning forward again in his chair. "Listen up, gorgeous, and listen good, because this is the last time that I'm going to say this the sweet way."

Phryne raised an eyebrow at him.

"Your Inspector Jack," he snapped, "needs to back the hell off. I'm done with this case, and I'm done with this game. I'm ready to go ahead and let bygones be bygones, even if that means letting that worthless shit of a constable kid get away with the murder of my little Sadie."

He swallowed hard, and Phryne sucked in a sharp breath as she watched his grip tighten convulsively on the gun.

"But," Daniel went on, lowering his voice so that Phryne had to lean in ever-so-slightly just to hear. "If your Inspector keeps it up; if he doesn't leave me alone and let me walk away from this, then the deal's off. I told you I'm not a killer, Phryne, but I know I don't have to tell you that I'm gonna do whatever the hell I have to do to stay alive. And your policeman loverboy should know it, too. If it's gonna be him or me, then so be it. I'll make it quick and I'll make it clean, but I'm coming after him before he gets another chance to come after me, understand? The jig is up. It's all over. We better be done here…or you're all gonna regret the hell out of it."

Phryne felt her throat go dry, and in the back of her mind she felt like screaming.

"Jack's only doing it for me," she whispered. "I'm the one who's really after you; it's not him. I'm the one you want, Daniel."

"All right then," muttered Daniel agreeably, flashing her another of his horrid grins. "If you turned him on to this, then you should be able to turn him off…am I right? Just call off your lovesick puppy, and you can both sleep sound again at night, just like that. Simple, huh?"

Phryne just shook her head.

"No it isn't," she whispered. "That's not how the law works…and that's not how Jack works. He'd never just let you walk away…especially after tonight. It doesn't matter how far you try to run, Daniel. Not even I can save you, now. I wouldn't if I could."

Daniel gave Phryne a doubtful look.

"Aw come on, Phryne," he murmured. "You're not giving yourself enough credit, are you? You're a powerfully attractive woman…so do yourself a favor and work those powerfully feminine wiles of yours…or else."

_He gets all his lines from the movies,_ through Phryne perversely, as Daniel slowly got up from the chair with his pistol still pointed unwavering at her.  _Everything he says feels like something stilted, from an American crime drama._

"You stay right there, now," began Daniel, inching backwards towards the door. "Stay right there, and don't go getting any heroic ideas because like I said, I won't kill you if you don't give me a good reason. You just sit tight and stay beautiful for a few minutes, and then when you do telephone your Inspector Jack, do what you have to do. Got it? Say whatever you have to say if you want to keep him alive."

Phryne didn't say a word. She just watched as Daniel retreated towards the front door with his eyes still locked on hers.

As soon as he'd slipped out and onto the front step, Phryne spun around, retrieved her handbag, found her pistol and dashed towards the door, hoping to catch him before he disappeared.

Unfortunately, by the time she got outside, Daniel was somehow already nowhere to be found.

For a few minutes Phryne scanned the front lawn and the road that led away from the residence. Then, when it became clear that Daniel had, somehow, gotten away or concealed himself where she wasn't going to find him, she slipped slowly back into the house and shut the door, locking it tightly behind her for all the good that was likely to do.

Then, still carrying her gun and keeping her eyes fastened on the front door, Phryne stole into the kitchen, reached for the telephone, and then hesitated, feeling cold and stifled, remembering the terrible, half-choked way that Daniel had repeated 'Inspector Jack' with that little glint of ugly, malicious menace in his eyes each time he'd said it.

Her fingers stalled as she hunted for familiar numbers, and she had to swallow hard and take a deep breath before picking up the receiver and holding it to her ear.

After a moment, someone picked up and answered groggily on the other end.

"City South Police Station, please," she whispered into the phone. "Yes, it is an emergency. Thank you."

While she waited to be connected, Phryne sat down in a kitchen chair facing out into the hallway, and took a slow, deep, steadying breath.

She still couldn't keep her eyes off the front door, and every now and then she was almost certain that she saw, out of the corner of her eye, the image of Daniel Kelley's sneering face as he venomously muttered Jack's name.

Whenever she turned her head to catch him, however, there was, of course, no one there at all.

* * *

It took a little bit of time for the police to arrive, probably because Jack and the rest of the on-duty force were presently tied up at the Three Brothers Club.

By the time Phryne did get the expected knock on the front door it was only around three in the morning, but the rest of the household was already awake. Mr. Butler, dressed and looking as fresh and awake as he did during the daylight hours, was slicing ham, cheese, and mustard pickle for sandwiches when Phryne opened the door to admit Jack, Hugh, and, unexpectedly, Dorothy.

"Miss," cried Dorothy, rushing into the house in front of the others. "Are you all right? What's happened? Hugh says that Mr. Kelley-!"

"I'm fine, Dot," Phryne assured her. "What are you doing here? Surely Hugh didn't drag you out of bed at this hour of the night to come with him on a police venture."

Dorothy frowned.

"Hugh's got nothing to do with it, Miss," she said staunchly. "You can't think that I'd stay home after hearing Hugh on the telephone with the Inspector. He did try to stop me."

"I did," agreed Hugh resignedly, "but…Dottie wasn't having any of it."

"I certainly was not," agreed Dorothy. "I've been worried sick, Miss. Where is Mr. Butler?"

"Good morning, Dorothy," announced Mr. Butler, drifting into the room with a heaping plate of sandwiches in his hands "Inspector Robinson, Constable Collins. I thought you might be hungry after your long night's work…which unfortunately seems to be getting longer by the minute."

He deposited the plate of sandwiches on the little table in the drawing room, and though Hugh did shoot a curious look in that direction, Phryne noticed that Jack paid the delicacies no attention whatsoever.

"Where," demanded Jack, "is Kelley?"

"He's gone, Jack," replied Phryne. "I don't know where. I tried to follow him, but I'm afraid that he had me at a disadvantage, and when I-!"

"How the hell did he get in?" Jack didn't even really seem to be listening to her. His eyes were wild and slightly bloodshot, and his fist was still clenched so tightly around the doorknob that his knuckles were turning white.

"There seems to be a window open in Mrs. Collins' old room," remarked Mr. Butler.

"Of course." Phryne shook her head. "Always with the theatrical entrances and exits, our Daniel."

""I want this house searched, Collins," barked Jack. "Every floor, top to bottom. If there's any chance that he's still hiding here-!"

"He isn't," Phryne assured him. "I'm sure he's gone. I saw him leave."

"No harm in searching the house just the same, Miss," murmured Dorothy reasonably. "Just to be especially safe."

Phryne shrugged and nodded. "Very well. I suppose it couldn't hurt, but…Jack, I really must speak with you in private. It's urgent."

"In a minute, Miss Fisher," muttered Jack. "Mr. Butler, would you care to come with us, or…?"

"Certainly, sir." Mr. Butler gave Jack and Hugh a little half bow. "That is, assuming that the ladies don't mind being left alone in the dark?"

Hugh frowned and hesitated for a moment, but Phryne only shook her head and waved him away, getting quickly to her own feet.

"Nonsense," she said. "What on earth would we sit around here for? Come along, Dot; you heard the man. Let's start with your old quarters and we can work our way downward from there."

Dorothy nodded, and they both started towards the stairs.

"Phryne," began Jack warningly.

Phryne ignored him.

"Don't worry, Jack," she promised. "If we find anything that looks even remotely like a murderous escapee, Dot will scream as loud as she can for you."

"I, um, certainly will," agreed Dorothy, swallowing and making an obvious effort not to look frightened.

"Then that's fine," murmured Phryne. "See you at the bottom, Jack."

Taking Dorothy by the arm, Phryne hurried her up the stairs and into the suite of guest bedrooms before any of the gentleman could put forward further argument.

* * *

**Author's End Note:** Sorry for yet another awkward cliffhanger; this is yet another two-part chapter that needs a break in the middle while I go and work on putting my classroom back together for next year.

I promise to update again later today. It'll all make more sense and flow better when you have both parts. Bear with me in the meantime, loves. I a


	7. Chapter Six: Let's Do It

**Author's Note:** A stroke of luck; I'm at rehearsal, but I'm only in the scene we're rehearsing today for like, five minutes. Gives me plenty of time to write I'm being quiet in the wings.

* * *

**Chapter Six: Let's Do It**

Unfortunately, the search turned out to be just as fruitless as Phryne had predicted. Some short time later, after having thoroughly combed the house for any sign of Kelley, Jack and Hugh returned to the kitchen to find Phryne, Dorothy, and Mr. Butler all sitting around the table, drinking tea and looking tired, although not as tired as Jack was finally beginning to feel.

"Nothing, sighed Hugh, slumping into a chair and letting Dorothy pour him a cup of tea. "No sign of Kelley anywhere in the house."

"Don't sound so disappointed," admonished Dorothy gently. "The fact that there isn't a crazed killer lurking somewhere in Miss Phryne's house isn't actually a bad thing, is it?"

"I have to agree with Dorothy," remarked Mr. Butler, smiling and shaking his head. "I admit that I've become more flexible over the years, but even I prefer when Miss Fisher's house doesn't become the scene of the crime."

Phryne snorted a laugh, but Jack didn't find it particularly funny.

"Miss Fisher," he sighed, "I'm afraid that, for a little while at least,, I'll have no choice but to trespass upon your hospitality. In light of the fact that we currently have absolutely no idea where Daniel Kelley might be, I think that the safest choice would be for me to remain here for the time being, just in case you get any more unsolicited late-night visits"

Phryne frowned, and Jack sighed.

"I know," he went on, "that you're perfectly capable of looking after yourself, clearly. I've no doubt that you'd be more than a match for Kelley on your own, except-!"

"It's fine, Jack," interrupted Phryne, shrugging. "Always happy to have you, of course. You're more than welcome to stay."

Jack paused and gave her a suspicious look.

"You don't mind," he said.

Phryne shook her head. "No, certainly not. Should I mind?"

Letting out a little, exasperated sigh under his breath, Jack shrugged.

"Probably," he admitted. "I'm sure that at least one of us should probably find the idea of spending the night together potentially inappropriate."

"I wasn't aware that you were suggesting we 'spend the night together,' countered Phryne, raising an eyebrow at him.

Jack cleared his throat, flushing ever so slightly and hating her just a little bit for it.

"You know perfectly well what I meant," he mumbled. "We shouldn't be-!"

"Don't worry," insisted Phryne. "I can assure you that I'm capable of a reasonable amount of restraint. You'll be perfectly safe from my feminine wiles for as long as you choose to avail yourself of my guest bedroom, Jack. I'm willing to make every effort to control myself in the face of your overwhelmingly seductive masculine charm if it means that we can prioritize catching the murderer. You can count on me."

Jack flinched at the obvious sarcasm, and Phryne sighed.

"Don't look so offended" she said quietly. "You started it. You were being ridiculous. It's not as though we've never stayed here together before. It'll be fine."

Jack thought of trying to explain to Phryne why, in light of recent events and resurgent feelings it really couldn't possibly be fine, at least for him, but in the end he scrapped the idea and just took a deep breath.

"I'll get the guest bedroom ready," suggested Mr. Butler, getting to his feet.

"Um…if you don't mind, Miss, then I'll be staying too," announced Dorothy unexpectedly.

"What?" Hugh looked startled.

"There's a killer on the loose," explained Dorothy, "and he's already been here once. You…you shouldn't be alone, Miss."

"But I won't be alone, Dot," Phryne reminded her, shooting a quick, almost coquettish look at Jack.

Dorothy glanced over at Jack, frowned and then nodded once.

"Right, Miss," she mumbled. "You…really shouldn't be alone."

For a moment, Phryne looked genuinely taken aback.

Hugh coughed into his sleeve, and when Jack looked sharply over at him he found that Hugh was doing his best to hide a smile.

"Uh, well, I guess that means that I'm staying too," said Hugh, shrugging. "That is, if you don't mind too much, Miss Fisher."

Phryne smiled.

"Not at all," she insisted, throwing her arms wide. "What could be bad about a house full of old friends? It'll be a party, won't it, Jack?"

"It…does seem that way," muttered Jack, finding that he couldn't quite return her enthusiasm.

"Three guest rooms then, if you please Mr. Butler," announced Phryne. "Unless," she asked, shooting a sly glance at Hugh out of the corner of her eye, "unless you feel that you'll only need two."

Dorothy's mouth fell open in surprise, and Hugh colored slightly. They turned to look at each other, but clearly neither of them had an answer readily available.

Phryne got up.

"I'll let you two sort that out with Mr. Butler," she told them, turning on her heel and heading for the drawing room. "Jack, if you wouldn't mind coming with me for a moment. We can even sit on opposite sides of the room while we talk."

Jack had no choice but to get up and follow her, leaving Hugh and Dorothy still looking vaguely uncomfortable and Mr. Butler looking mildly amused in the kitchen behind them.

Once they were in the drawing room, Phryne shut the door behind them and seated herself on the sofa. Warily, Jack sat across from her in a chair.

"You said," he reminded her, "that it was urgent."

"It is," she agreed. "Jack, I spoke to Daniel when he was here earlier. Mind you, it wasn't exactly by choice; he had a gun to my head the whole time."

Jack gritted his teeth.

"He told me," she went on quickly, "that I should try to talk you out of hunting him down…that I should 'get you off his back,' was the phrase that I believe he used. He said that he'd stop killing if I could convince you to stop tracking him, but that if you didn't leave him alone…he'd be coming after you, next."

"Really," murmured Jack.

"Really," returned Phryne. "And, Jack, I saw the look in his eyes. He may be out of his mind, but I'm sure he meant every single word that he said."

Jack frowned but said nothing while Phryne continued to watch him expectantly.

"If you think," he began eventually, "that you're going to talk me out of pursuing this investigation, then-!"

"Of course I don't," interrupted Phryne impatiently, shaking her head. "I have no intention of trying. What I want, Jack, is for you to be careful…really careful. No more of this going off on your own to investigate leads that no one knows about. Whether you like it or not, you're going to have to let me help you. We're going to investigate this as partners, for your sake and mine; because I don't want you to get murdered, Jack, and we're better off as a pair than either of us would be on our own. There's strength in numbers."

Jack watched her face as she said it, and even though she kept that characteristic, slightly teasing tone in her voice, there was nothing but serious business in her eyes.

"And," he asked quietly, "If I refuse to involve you in this?"

Phryne shrugged. "I'm not giving you the option. Either you agree to my terms, or I have Mr. Butler lock you in the upstairs bedroom for your own good while I go off to investigate on my own."

Jack started to smile, but Phryne just shook her head.

"If you don't believe me," she told them, "then I dare you to test it. Try leaving on your own and I'll show you serious about this I really am."

"I can see how serious you are," said Jack, honestly a little surprised and a little gratified in spite of himself. "That does not, however, change the fact that you-!"

"I have an idea," interrupted Phryne, disregarding this protest as though he hadn't even started to make it. "I think that our best bet is to go on investigating Tara Todd's murder as though we're really searching for the culprit."

Jack frowned.

"But," he reminded her, "Kelley essentially already confessed. You said so yourself."

"He did," agreed Phryne, nodding, "but I want to make it look as though we're following his 'instructions.' I want it to seem as though we're searching for a scapegoat; perhaps Charlie Taylor, as you originally suggested."

"That is not, "countered Jack, "at all what I suggested."

Again, Phryne ignored him.

"While we're pretending to investigate Charlie and the other potential suspects at the Three Brothers," she went on quickly, "we can give Daniel the impression that we're purposefully staying off his track while we continue, as carefully as possible, to see if we can get any information out of Mrs. Todd's husband about what it is that Daniel's actually up to. After all, you said that Daniel went to Mr. Todd for money first, so Mr. Todd must know  _something._ We just have to be incredibly discreet about the way that we do it…and we'll need at least one red herring to give Daniel the wrong impression. Hopefully if we lead him to believe that he's won, he'll let his guard down and we can go after him in earnest, but until then we have to tread very,  _very_  carefully, and I think a little bit of skillful misdirection may be in order."

"Hardly seems fair to poor Charlie," muttered Jack.

Phryne shrugged.

"Do you know," she said, "I think Charlie would actually go along with it if we quietly clued him in. I'm sure Mac would. Either way, even if we're not going to bring them into the loop, you can just treat it as you'd treat any other investigation; the exact same way you were going to treat it from the start. Examine every avenue and interview every witness…just in case we've missed something. It's for their own good as much as ours to get a half-crazed killer off the streets, don't you think?"

Slowly, Jack nodded.

"And," added Phryne after a moment's thought, "you may want to let Mr. Todd know that you and I are working together. It'd be best, I think, for you to keep up your undercover work as Archie Jones, since the staff of the Three Brothers are much more likely to trust you that way than if you suddenly admit to having been a detective the whole time. I'm not entirely certain if I should continue to be Pearl Porter, or if I should just go ahead and be Phryne Fisher. I think, honestly, that it'd be better if I remained undercover as well, mostly to preserve your alias, Jack, and that would be much easier if Mr. Todd were in on the plot."

Jack had to admit that, to a certain extent, the plan made sense, especially if they wanted to have any hope of catching Daniel Kelley before he left the country again. If Kelley thought he was safe where he was, then he was significantly less likely to do a bolt, which suited Jack just fine.

 _This,_ Jack thought bitterly,  _is beginning to seem more and more like Phryne's nightmares…a scenario I promised her was almost impossibly unlikely. I don't care how ingeniously stoic she's being; this must be terrifying, even for her. Even if she isn't willing to admit it._

"I'll go along with your plan," he said aloud, "on one condition."

Phryne raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh? And what's that?"

Jack cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter in his chair.

"For the duration of the investigation,' he said quietly, "Collins and I will be staying here, at your house."

Phryne looked a bit surprised.

"If you're going to insist on our doing this together," explained Jack hurriedly, "then at least I should be at hand if things goes sour and Kelley decides to come back for you. I know it's not terribly convenient and I accept that it's going to get uncomfortable, especially considering our recent-!"

"Don't worry, Jack," retorted Phryne. "If you're here with me, I promise I won't let him hurt you. You'll be perfectly safe."

She winked at him, and Jack blew out a frustrated breath.

"So…that's a yes, then," he muttered.

"Absolutely," agreed Phryne. "Delighted, I'm sure. I'll be asking Cec and Bert to come over as well, since Jane will be returning from school tomorrow, and I certainly don't' want her left alone with a murderer on the loose."

Jack did some quick mental math, then nodded.

"Eight people," he said. "I think we're taking 'safety in numbers' to a whole new level."

Phryne shrugged.

"The house is certainly large enough," she assured him. "It's perfectly designed for a woman like myself, except that the woman in question, I imagine, is supposed to get married and have an extensive staff and perhaps even more children in order to fill out the place. That's not in the cards, so this may be the closest to a fun little family holiday that we ever get. We should try to enjoy it."

She laughed under her breath, and Jack realized that he'd probably be spending the next few days reminding himself repeatedly that he wasn't allowed to enjoy this too much.

Now feeling entirely too sober, he rubbed wearily at his still aching temple and wondered if there was any chance of a drink.

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

There, that's a little better. Now we have the full episode, even if it is in two pieces.

I've been seriously considering (only once the story is finished) adapting this story into an original story, based on and heavily inspired by MFMM, but not actually stealing from. I think that I've taken the world far enough away from the TV series that I'd be able to make an original piece out of it if I tried. Something for me to think about in future months, perhaps, but for now I should probably make sure that I actually know the three lines I have to say in the next scene…


	8. Chapter SeveN: Wide Awake

**Author's Note:** An update on my adapting  **The Joy Delirious**  into an original story. So far, it is taking a little less work than I'd expected. I can keep the relationship between the characters relatively intact, since it seems I've really taken this fic in a far more original direction than I'd initially realized. I wonder if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe a bit of both?

Here's a discussion question for our lazy Wednesday (or mine, at least):

Who, other than Kerry Greenwood, is a mystery writer that you really love and would recommend to the rest of us?

I'll start. I'm a huge fan of Ngaio Marsh, and if you enjoy Phryne and Jack, I think you should absolutely check out Alleyn and Troy, another romantic couple from the annals of great detective stories. Ngaio Marsh. Trust me, if you look her up you won't regret it. Great stuff.

Your turn!

Or, wait, maybe it's my turn to actually write something.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Wide Awake**

Of course, Phryne didn't sleep that night, not that there was much left of the night to sleep through.

She knew that if she did fall asleep, Murdoch Foyle and Daniel Kelley would probably visit her again in her dreams. Over the last few weeks, she'd slowly, very slowly, been starting to move past the embarrassing and absurd night terrors that she'd started entertaining when Daniel had first escaped, but now, after the events of last night, it all felt very disturbingly real again. Now Foyle's face, at least, didn't seem to be haunting her anymore. Instead, when she shut her eyes it was Daniel Kelley's twisted grin that she saw, and she could still hear the venom in the way he'd said Jack's name. He said it over and over again, his face getting bigger and bigger against the black backdrop of attempted sleep until finally Phryne gave it up for lost and threw on her kimono to sit in front of the mirror in her boudoir, staring at her reflection and trying not to imagine the ghosts of old nemeses creeping in from the corridors and through the walls of the occupied guest rooms.

 _I should have Bert and Cec check the locks on all the windows tomorrow,_ she though nervously.  _Especially that window in Dot's old room. Of course, I'm certain that Mr. Butler won't have anyone staying in that room tonight. Perhaps it would be better if I kept Jane in here, with me, once she arrives. Might get a bit crowded, but for a week or so it shouldn't be too hard, assuming she'd stand for it._

Of course, Phryne knew, there was always the possibility that this stalemate between her and Daniel might last longer than a week…perhaps much longer.

 _Not if I can help it,_ she told herself.  _Jack and I will just have to get to him before he can get to us._

Even as she thought it, Phryne was all too acutely aware that it really wasn't 'us' that Daniel would be after. He'd made it perfectly clear that before taking any interest in Phryne, he had every intention of going doggedly and specifically after 'Inspector Jack,' and Phryne knew perfectly well how one-track-minded Kelley could be when he wanted to. Even if it was only for the sake of destroying Phryne, Daniel would be coming for Jack, first and foremost…and he wouldn't' stop until he'd made Phryne realize just how serious he'd been when he'd made the initial treat.

 _But Daniel isn't the only one who can play a serious game,_ she thought, setting her law and slowly settling back onto the edge of the bed as the sun came steadily up through the bedroom window.  _I meant it when I said that Jack would be safe here…and that I wouldn't let anyone, Daniel Kelley or anyone else, try to hurt him._

She vaguely remembered a phrase she'd learned once from an aging but incredibly skilled pole dancer at a club she'd once encountered on a case.

"I don't regret it for a second," the dancer had informed her while in the process of being handcuffed and arrested for the murder of an unsavory employer who'd been brutally blackmailing the dancer's newlywed husband "A good woman must always be prepared to step in front."

 _Always,_ thought Phryne grimly.

* * *

By the time that Phryne made it down to breakfast the next morning, it was long after nine o'clock. Dorothy, Hugh and Mr. Butler were already at the table, but only Mr. Butler was managing to look anything like alive.

"Morning, Miss Phryne," murmured Dorothy, hazarding a sleepy smile.

"You're up early," remarked Phryne, seating herself next to Dorothy and reaching for the teapot. "There's no need, you know. You're welcome to sleep as long as you like."

"Can't, Miss," mumbled Hugh around a bite of scone. "Busy day, today. Lots to be done on the, uh…the Todd investigation, I suppose."

 _Jack must have already explained to Hugh that we'll be treating this like a perfectly normal 'whodunit' sort of murder,_ thought Phryne, nodding at him.  _I wonder when he had time to do that? Not that it wasn't the best idea. Poor Hugh's already lost plenty on his own account, due to Daniel's disappearance. I'm sure he'll be just as pleased as the rest of us to finally put Daniel away. He has a reputation to save, after all._

"In that case," asked Phryne, "where is our dogged Inspector Robinson? I assume that your work this morning involves him, too…and now that I think about it, he and I are both due down at the station sometime today to submit to police questioning; or at least, I am. I'm certainly expecting him to accompany me for moral support and to serve as an alibi, if I need one."

Hugh frowned.

"Uh, the Inspector hasn't made it downstairs yet," he admitted, shrugging. "Yesterday was a pretty long day. I…didn't exactly want to wake him up."

Phryne couldn't blame him.

"Never fear," she said, getting to her feet again, yawning and turning back towards the door. "I'll risk it."

Whether intentionally or not, it turned out that Mr. Butler had set Jack up in the room right next to Phryne's. She was still trying to decide if that had been a vaguely, uncharacteristically malicious trick on Mr. Butler's part or not when she knocked on the door and got no answer.

Gently, Phryne pushed the door open a crack and glanced inside.

Jack was curled up on his side on the bed, disappointingly fully dressed in a set of pajamas that Mr. Butler had unearthed from Phryne's cabinet of guest-appropriate wear. Phryne was pretty sure that Jack had worn the same set the last time he'd unexpectedly spent the night.

 _I think I won't tell him,_ she reflected idly,  _that this particular set of pajamas, which seems to be rapidly becoming his favorite, was left behind by a certain Warwick Hamilton when he departed so hurriedly for foreign lands._

"Jack," she said quietly.

Muttering something under his breath, Jack stirred slightly, opened one eye, took a moment to process Phryne's presence and then abruptly sat up straight.

"Agh," he muttered, wincing and suddenly clutching at his head.

"Yes," agreed Phryne sympathetically. "That is usually what happens when you drink five whiskeys and then pull a harrowing all-nighter. Come downstairs and I'll get you a glass of something that might help ease the pain."

"I feel," he said, very softly, "as though my head is on fire."

"Don't worry," Phryne assured him. "I'm planning to undertake a cure. Mr. Butler has been strictly forbidden from offering you even the tiniest sip of anything alcoholic until you've gotten yourself a bit more under your typical control."

Jack sighed.

"And here I was thinking that at least I had some of your excellent champagne to look forward to," he said resignedly, but with just a hint of a smile on his face. "Now I don't know how I'm going to make it through this ordeal. I find myself…strangely unmotivated."

He sank back on the bed again, and Phryne gave him one of her very sweetest smiles in return.

"Perhaps this will motivate you," she suggested. "If you don't get up and get dressed for the day sometime in the next five minutes, I'll come over there and help undress you myself…if you think would help to move things along."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

Sitting bolt upright in bed, Jack gave her a long, startled look.

"I…fear that would definitely help move things along," he said under his breath. "Perhaps a little too much. Just what exactly are you trying to motivate me to do, Miss Fisher?"

He frowned at her, and she sighed and turned her back while he, presumably, began to get himself dressed.

"Good morning, by the way," she said belatedly, still with her face to the wall.

"Good morning," agreed Jack. "Did you get any sleep?"

"I slept like a baby," replied Phryne glibly. "I was exhausted…and I've no doubt that you were as well. Unfortunately, life won't wait. I have to go and pick up Jane up from the station in a few minutes, and then when I get back you and I are both due for an appearance at the police station."

"I'll go with you to get Jane," announced Jack, coming around to join her by the door. "Safety in numbers, remember?"

"Lovely," murmured Phryne. "I'd enjoy the company. Jane will too; she asks about you, you know, quite frequently."

He was now successfully wearing trousers and as shirt, although the rest of his blue wool suit wasn't anywhere in immediate evidence. Phryne suspected that, although it hadn't been there when she'd walked in, she'd find the rest of the suit hanging on the back of the door by the time she and Jack left the room.

After all, even Mr. Butler occasionally needed a few minutes to sleep.

"Shall we?" Phryne offered the half-dressed Inspector her arm.

Jack hesitated for a moment, giving her a very long, almost unreadable look, and Phryne's heart did a little excited leap before she could catch herself.

"Let's not start gazing longingly into each other's eyes just yet, Jack," she murmured. "We may have a long few days ahead of us, and it would be best if we didn't make it any harder on ourselves, don't you think?"

Jack shrugged.

"I'll admit that I could easily get lost in your eyes," he told her quietly, "but I wasn't gazing into your soul this time, Miss Fisher. I was looking at the dark circles under your eyelids. You may have 'slept like a baby,' but if so it was a cranky, fitful baby."

Phryne blinked.

"Never lie to a policeman," he suggested, taking her offered arm and leading her out the door. "Remember, I've made a career out of learning other people's secrets."

"I hope you won't try to delve too deeply into mine," Phryne heard herself say, teasing him almost on instinct. "Once you've figured me out completely, Jack, then what next, when we have no undiscovered country left to explore?"

"What a shame," retorted Jack simply, "that we'll never have the chance to find out."

He kept his eyes front as they strode together down the stairs, but Phryne's heart was now beating much quicker than it had been before, and she was very, very aware of the gentle pressure of his arm linked lightly through hers.

 _Oh no,_ she thought, sighing a little under her breath.  _When Jack called the next few days an 'ordeal,' maybe that was even more of an accurate assessment than I'd thought…_

* * *

Cec and Bert were waiting for Phryne at the train station when she and Jack arrived in the Hispano-Suiza.

"Morning, Miss Fisher," called Bert, striding over to meet her and shaking Jack by the hand. "Inspector. Heard you had a rough night."

Jack frowned.

"And who," he asked, "did you hear that from, exactly?"

"Dottie called us," Cec informed them as he came over to join them as well. "Just this morning. She said you'd probably have a job for us and that we were to meet you at the train station."

Phryne laughed.

"It seems that Dot doesn't want you and I left alone for a second, Jack," she remarked. "She's turning into quite the stern and aggressive chaperone, don't you think? Perhaps I'd better leave her at home with Jane and have Cec and Bert come investigating with us."

Bert gave Phryne a look, and Jack coughed.

"I'm sure that's not what Mrs. Collins meant at all," he muttered. "No doubt 'safety in numbers' was on her mind as well."

"The hell," demanded Bert, "is going on here, Miss?"

Before Phryne had a chance to come up with an answer to that, the train doors suddenly slid open and Jane came bolting out as best she could with a heavy suitcase in each hand.

"Miss Fisher!" Putting down one of her suitcases, Jane waved enthusiastically at Phryne.

"Jane!" Phryne's heart leapt, Jane's smile broadened, and then Phryne was rushing over to join her ward, taking Jane in her arms and hugging her tightly.

"Welcome home, Jane," exclaimed Phryne. "We've all missed you terribly. How was the journey? Goodness, what on earth did you pack in these things?"

"It's, um, mostly books, Miss," insisted Jane. "I've got a lot of studying to do over the break, you know. I mean, it's only really sort of supposed to be a vacation, but it's also an opportunity to get a head start on preparing for the exams. I thought maybe I could use the study...if you don't mind."

"You'll have a hard time finding a quiet space in the house," returned Phryne apologetically. "We're almost at capacity, if you'd believe it. I suppose I shouldn't actually discourage you from studying, but what a bore."

"I'll make time for you too, Miss," Jane assured her. "I promise. Just...perhaps no 'welcome home' parties just yet? Not until I've tackled chemistry, anyway."

Phryne rolled her eyes. "Oh well," she muttered, "if you insist."

After trying and failing to successfully lift one of the suitcases, Phryne shook her head and then called over her shoulder to the others.

"Cec, Bert! I'm glad you're here," she said, laughing. "Looks like we're going to need some manly muscle after all. Come lend a hand with these won't you?"

While Cec and Bert dutifully collected the unreasonably heavy suitcases from a very grateful Jane, Phryne noticed out of the corner of her eye that Jack was watching her again with another one of those strange, serious looks on his face.

"The dark circles, again, Jack?" She frowned.

"What? No…no, it's nothing," muttered Jack, shooting a quick look between Phryne and Jane, then shaking his head and hiding what had almost started to look like a smile. "Nothing in the world."

He turned and started back towards the car while Cec, Bert, and Jane lifted her luggage into the back of the cab.

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

There seems to be a lot of character development going on here, rather than a lot of advancing plot, and the pacing is a little different in this story than it was in the last one, but I'm not necessarily unhappy with it, yet. We'll see how it goes.

Tonight I have dinner with my partner's parents. Now, this is not the first time I've had dinner with his parents (we've been together for nine years, it's happened a fair number of times) but it never ceases to be vaguely awkward.

I have a feeling that the awkwardness has something to do with the fact that I haven't married him yet. What is it with people and their insistence on our getting married?

In any case, if you leave me a comment (even an unrelated comment) or shoot me an email that I can excuse myself from the table to check during dinner, you'll be a saving grace in your own right.

Keep me fondly in your thoughts while I undergo the dreaded parental dinner.


	9. Chapter Eight: Love for Sale

**Author's Note:** In case you were worried, I seemed to have survived the dinner.

Bring on Thursday. I can do anything.

I can even write this next chapter.

…I've been drinking. Apologies. (I am a mature legal adult and everything is okay.)

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Love for Sale**

It was a long day, full of tedious police questioning and endless attempts to hide a yawn, but eventually Phryne and Jack both made it into the evening. At the usual appointed time, Jack dressed himself in the brown suit that he used only for the character of Archie Jones, professional piano player, and discovered as he put it on that Mr. Butler appeared to have pressed it in his absence.

_It's almost like being married again,_ though Jack dryly, remembering the significantly more inexperienced way that Rosie had used to press his clothes. She'd gotten the hang of it eventually, of course, but nothing had ever come out of her hands quite as fresh and clean as Mr. Butler's work.

It occurred to Jack, not for the first or the last time recently that getting this excited about a freshly pressed suit probably meant that he'd been living alone for far too long.

"Jack," called Phryne, tripping down the stairs in something white and semi-sheer, covered in some kind of little shiny teardrop bits. "Oh good, there, you are. Ready yet?"

Jack blinked. "You, uh…" He stopped, cleared his throat, and then tried again. "That's not what you wore last night."

"No," agreed Phryne, smiling, "it isn't. I'm afraid that ladies can't get away with wearing the same thing for multiple days in a row. But look…this one's just as apropos as last night's was." She tapped a little pearl broach that she'd pinned in an unnecessarily suggestive place, just nestled in the dip of the neckline. Jack tried to be gentlemanly enough not to stare, and completely failed.

"This dress and last night's are both from the Fleuri collection," she told him. "You remember that case, don't you, Jack?"

"Dangerous dresses," muttered Jack. "Yes…I remember."

"I'll have to tell the Fleuris just what an impression it's made on you," murmured Phryne, laughing. "I'm sure they'll be pleased."

Aware that she was trying to get a rise out of him and that he'd already fallen into the trap, Jack refrained from commenting any further.

"Oh, Miss," sighed Dorothy, coming into the room from the kitchen and giving Phryne a bright smile. "You look lovely."

"You're lovely to say so, Dot," countered Phryne. "And…goodness, you look  _marvelous._ Where on earth is Hugh?"

Dorothy herself was wearing the closest thing to an evening dress that Jack had ever seen her in, deep green and silky without nearly as many sparkles, but embroidered and beaded at the hem with what looked, to Jack's untrained eye, like tiny little flowers.

"Did someone call me?" Hugh came down the stairs at that moment, wearing his policeman's uniform.

"Hugh," asked Phryne, raising her eyebrows at him. "You're not going to get dressed up? And look, Dot's gone to all that trouble."

Hugh glanced quickly over at Dorothy, widened his eyes, and then started, involuntarily, to smile.

"She did, didn't she," he mumbled. "I mean…you did, Dottie? You look, uh…very nice."

It wasn't, thought Jack, the most eloquent of compliments, but Dorothy obviously got the gist from the look in Hugh's eyes. She flushed, looking extremely pleased, and when Hugh offered her an arm she took it readily.

"I'm supposed to be going tonight on official police business," Hugh reminded Phryne apologetically. "No best suit for me, I'm afraid."

"Hugh's promised me at least a dance, though," insisted Dorothy.

"Yeah, well," agreed Hugh, "if we've got to spend the night at a jazz club, then I guess I see no reason why not, do I?"

"It's…not exactly the sort of place we usually go," admitted Dorothy. "Hugh and I, I mean. His mother-!"

"-won't have any objection to Hugh going on an official police visit," finished Phryne, nodding approvingly. "You know me, Dot, I've no problem whatsoever with mixing business and pleasure."

"Collins," remarked Jack uncertainly, "is on duty."

"So are you, technically" retorted Phryne, "and I fully expect you to show me a good time, Archie."

With that she took his arm, turned on her heel, and called over her shoulder to Mr. Butler in the kitchen.

"Hold the fort for me, Mr. Butler," she said. "Don't let Cec and Bert lead Jane down any roads that I wouldn't travel."

Sticking his head out of the kitchen, Mr. Butler gave her a tolerant smile.

"Can't imagine what those might be, Miss," he said, nodding at her before returning to whatever it was he'd been working on.

Dorothy snorted a laugh and then quickly stifled it behind her hands.

"To the motorcars, then," announced Phryne, sweeping Jack out the door. "Dot, why don't you and Hugh take the police car, and Jack and I willtake the Hispano-Suiza. After all, you're supposed to be official, while we'll need to show up in a little more…private style."

"Very good, Miss," murmured Dot, looking honestly relieved.

Jack sighed.

"Oh joy," he muttered. "I don't suppose there's any hope of-?"

"Of me letting you drive?" Phryne laughed. "Not a hope in hell, Jack, and you can take this as payback for the last time you invited me out. This time, I'm in the driver's seat."

"In every sense of the word," muttered Jack, although he hoped he'd said it low enough that Phryne hadn't heard.

* * *

Hugh and Dorothy hung back a little bit, so that it wouldn't look too much like they'd all come to the club together as a group of four. Phryne, whose horrifically unsafe driving already gave her quite the head start, arrived at the club with Jack in vaguely nauseated tow around seven o'clock.

"Ah, Mr. Jones, there you are at last," boomed Mr. Todd, hurrying over to them with a nervous look on his large, white face. "I was beginning to worry…it's been quite the day, you see, and everything else has already gone wrong."

"I'm sure it has," agreed Jack, nodding.

Jack could see at a glance that Mr. Todd's hands were shaking his his pockets, and that he was barely managing to keep the welcoming half-smile on his haggard face.

"Mr. Todd," began Jack, "I believe you've already met Miss Pearl Porter."

"Charmed, charmed, I'm sure," mumbled Mr. Todd, reaching hesitantly for Phryne's hand. "We did just meet in passing last evening, yes, yes, Miss Porter. Archibald's told me all about you, of course…we're so happy to have you with us. So very happy."

"I was surprised," began Phryne, smiling carefully and watching Mr. Todd's eyes, "to hear that your usual singer wasn't able to make it again this evening."

"Oh,  _her_ ," snorted Mr. Todd, throwing up his hands in despair. "Don't even get me started about that wanton hussy. First she's too hung over to show up to her own show, and now it turns out that she's sick…the kind of sick that you only get at certain hours of the morning after probably more than one little wayward indiscretion."

Phryne looked startled.

"She's pregnant," she murmured. "Really? How perfectly timed."

"I hope," retorted Jack, "that you don't think I had anything to do with this. It was just a genuinely convenient coincidence."

Phryne shrugged.

"I should certainly hope," she returned, "that you wouldn't go to the trouble of getting a woman pregnant on my account."

Jack had absolutely no idea how he was supposed to respond to something like that, and while he was doing his best to come up with a retort, Phryne detached herself from his side and went over to the piano to speak with Charlie Taylor.

"A lovely woman," murmured Mr. Todd sadly. "Full of a certain…fire! Just like Tara, my poor darling."

"I'm going to find the person who killed your wife, sir," mumbled Jack. "I promise you that. Miss… _Porter_  is a very skilled investigator. You won't regret bringing her on."

Mr. Todd only nodded miserably.

"I've already filled Miss Porter in on the details of everything we've discussed," Jack went on. "She's very discreet."

"Oh, I'm sure she is," declared Mr. Todd, shaking his head, "but…Jack, honestly, aren't you worried? I mean…about bringing a  _woman,_ and a pretty little thing like her, too, into the middle of a mess with this madman? You're not afraid of what he might do to her next?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Jack watched for a moment while Phryne leaned in to whisper something to Charlie, who was nodding, wide-eyed, at whatever it was she had to tell him.

_She's letting him in on the cover,_ he realized, wishing Phryne had discussed that with him before jumping right in.

"I honestly believe," sighed Jack, "that our killer has more to fear from this woman than she could ever fear from him. She's…special, Mr. Todd."

Again, Mr. Todd only nodded.

"If she's special, Jack," he whispered, "then that seems like an even better reason to keep her as far out of it as you can."

Jack looked up in surprise to see that Mr. Todd's eyes were beginning to water, and as the man dashed the tears away with the back of a big, clean hand, Jack's heart twisted a little bit in his chest.

"I'll just…get back to the bar, then," mumbled Mr. Todd, turning around and drifting back in the direction from which he'd come. "You call me if you find that you need me…of course."

For a moment, Jack watched the dejected bulk of the pining Mr. Todd slumping down behind the bar with his head in his hands.

"Archie," called Phryne, "you're late! Come and play something for me, darling."

Reluctantly, with Mr. Todd's last words ringing in his head, Jack headed over to the piano to join the others.

"Charlie has one that he wants to play," Phryne informed him. "Shall we have a duet?"

"Uh, well, a trio," mumbled Charlie. "Mr. Jones, do you know this one?"

He indicated a music book on his stand, and Jack glanced briefly over at the piece before nodding.

"I do," he said. "Not too well, but-!"

"Oooh." Phryne's eyes lit up. "I love this song. Please, Archie, do give it a try for me."

Resignedly, Jack settled himself down at the keyboard, and took a quick breath.

"I had no idea," he told Phryne over his shoulder, "that you were such a fan of Cole Porter."

"Stands to reason," whispered Phryne into Jack's ear, leaning just a little bit too close to him. "Pearl Porter…perhaps Cole's a distant relative. What do you think; a cousin, maybe, twice removed?"

She stepped away again, and as Charlie began to play, Jack did his best to keep up.

Once they'd successfully begun the song with fewer flubs than Jack had honestly expected, Phryne began to sing in that lovely, alluringly low, purring voice of hers.

"When the only sound on the empty street," she sang, "is the heavy tread of the heavy feet that belong to a lonesome cop…I open shop."

She winked at Jack, and he pretended to ignore her.

"The moon so long has been gazing down, "she went on, "on the wayward ways of this wayward town, and as her smile becomes a smirk…I go to work."

On a whim, Jack decided to try a fancy riff on the keyboard, and it worked better than he'd expected in context. Phryne shot him an appreciate look before stepping forward and giving the chorus her alto all.

"Love for sale," she belted. "Appetizing young love for sale. Love that's fresh and still unspoiled; love that's only slightly soiled, love for sale…who will buy?"

Much to Jack's discomfort, there seemed to be a number of gentlemen in the audience who would have been interested in "buying." As Phryne sang, more and more heads turned, and Jack was all too familiar with the hungry look in the eyes of one man close to the front, and with the longing, lonely look on the face of the young gentleman sitting at the table far to the right. Jack found that his police reflexes had already kicked into gear, and that his muscles were telling him to be ready to spring in case any of the eager on-lookers decided they suddenly wanted to touch.

Phryne, on the other hand, appeared to be in her element, and the longer she sang, the more confident and sultry her voice became.

It was only after they reached the second chorus and were well halfway through the song that Jack noticed the full glass of whisky and the bottle sitting on the top of the piano.

While he was frowning at it, trying to figure out which of the usual suspects might have left it there for him, the door to the club opened and Hugh came walking in with Dorothy following.

Of course, as soon as the club patrons caught sight of a uniformed police officer, activity ground hurriedly to a halt. Charlie and Jack kept playing, and Phryne kept singing, but everyone else went silent and turned to stare at Hugh.

Mr. Todd drifted over in Hugh's direction, and although Jack couldn't quite hear what they said to each other over the sound of the music, the conversation didn't last long. Eventually, Todd went back to the bar, still looking deeply depressed, and Hugh led Dorothy over to a table as far removed as possible from the other patrons, who were still watching him with venom in their eyes.

"Old love," sang Phryne, "new love…every love but true love. Love for sale, appetizing young love for sale. If you want to buy my wares, follow me and climb the stairs….love for sale…"

She let the last note trail off into the silence, and as Jack and Charlie played their way out, the song ended. Phryne dropped a little bow and slowly, warily, the club began to clap and some to cheer, many of them beginning to lose interest in the policeman in the corner who hadn't done anything difficult or noteworthy just yet.

Hugh himself was looking at Jack, and Jack was trying very hard not to make incriminating eye contact when Phryne leaned in and murmured something to Charlie.

"That's him," she said, gesturing at Hugh.

Charlie glanced up, frowned at Hugh, and then nodded.

"Okay, Miss Fisher," mumbled Charlie, getting to his feet and setting the clarinet down on his chair.

He gave Jack a quick, slightly nervous smile.

"You mind watching my clarinet for me, Mr. Jones?" Charlie sighed, and rubbed anxiously at the back of his neck. "I, uh…I have to go in for 'questioning,' now."

"Questioning?" Jack frowned. "What about?"

"About Mrs. Todd's murder, Jack," murmured Phryne encouragingly. "I imagine that that's why that dashing policeman and his very attractive young wife have just showed up, don't you?"

Charlie shot a quick glance over his shoulder and then lowered his voice.

"Miss Fisher says," he began, "that the cop knows I didn't do it, but that I gotta play along, because we're trying to set a trap for the killer. I'm not much of an actor, Miss Fisher, but I'll give it a go if you think it'll help at all."

Phryne beamed, but Jack just shook his head.

"Charlie," he said quietly. "Are you sure you know exactly what happened here, last night?"

"Of course he does, Jack," muttered Phryne. "He doesn't live under a rock. He was in questioning down at the station all morning, which I presumed you already knew."

Charlie nodded.

"You and Miss Fisher found Mrs. Todd in the kitchens," he said, shuddering a little bit. "Annie, she's a waitress here, says that somebody stabbed Mrs. Todd with a kitchen knife, right through the heart…blood all over the place, everywhere." He swallowed hard.

"Annie is exaggerating," murmured Phryne. "As a matter of fact, there wasn't that much blood spatter…and Annie wouldn't have seen it, anyway. We were the only ones here, and I'm sure the body was cleared away long before your Annie arrived."

"Charlie," began Jack again, ignoring Phryne. "Clara Todd was the one creatig those photographs that we kept finding by the piano. Miss Fisher found the final photograph crumpled up in Mrs. Todd's hand when we discovered the body."

"Yeah," agreed Charlie, nodding slowly. "Yeah, she said. Guess I won't have to worry about anymore photographs, huh?"

"Apparently," muttered Jack. "And….you're still willing to submit to questioning in order to find this woman's killer? It might turn out to be unpleasant for you. Being the subject of a police investigation can be a very uncomfortable business."

"Not as uncomfortable as poor Mr. Todd is, I guess," mumbled Charlie, shrugging. "No point in holding grudges against the dead, is there? Didn't do any real damage…and it's over now, one way or another."

He turned around and started towards the table where Hugh and Dorothy were seated.

"Do me a favor, Miss Fisher," he said over his shoulder as he left. "Don't bother Mr. Todd about the photographs, okay? Doesn't matter anymore…and I guess he's got enough to worry about, now. I guess we all do."

With that, Charlie left them to go and, apparently, be interrogated.

"Charlie Taylor," murmured Phryne, "is more of a man than most that I've met."

"I'd have to agree," replied Jack.

"And," added Phryne, "I think Mac likes him."

It took Jack a moment to wrestle mentally with that one.

_For the longest time,_ he realized, slightly embarrassed by the thought,  _I'm not sure that I've even thought of Dr. Elizabeth MacMillan as a sexual entity. She doesn't tend to express interest in…well, in men, at least._

"I was under the impression," said Jack carefully, "that Dr. MacMillan was more interested in the fairer sex."

"Don't label," suggested Phryne dismissively. "'If she and he be pleased, what's that to you?'"

Jack smiled.

"The Taming the Shrew," he said, "by William Shakespeare. You're not usually one to quote the bard, Miss Fisher."

"Perhaps I've been brushing up on my Shakespeare,'" she returned glibly, "to impress a particularly literary gentleman."

The club patrons, having totally abandoned the now uninteresting policeman in the corner, had now begun to murmur restlessly amongst themselves again.

"How about it, Archie," suggested Phryne. "Another song? Do you know 'S Wonderful?'"

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"That doesn't seem," he told her, "like your usual style."

"t's a favorite of Dot's," admitted Phryne. "I heard her humming it this morning in the kitchen. I was hoping, perhaps, that Hugh might take a break from his professional diligence and maybe ask her to dance if we play something that he knows she likes. Worth a try, perhaps?"

She began to sing, and Jack had to hastily sort himself out and find the right keys to catch up. For a few seconds at least, she was entirely acapella, but as they always did for the great Phryne Fisher, heads in the club still turned.

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

So, this is another of our two-part chapters, but I must confess; I'm a little too tipsy to continue without losing the quality, so I'd best break for tonight.

I promise to finish the chapter properly tomorrow, and I'm looking forward to this one because there are a lot of fun little moments in it.

As always, please excuse any glaring typos, and I'll see you in the morning!


	10. Chapter Nine: 'S Wonderful

**Author' Note:** Thank you, much better, now. Let's have a go at the rest of this chapter, shall we?

Heeey, do you think maybe we can get all the way through Chapter Ten today? That would be cool. I always feel like double digits is a milestone. Still…that may be ambitious, considering what else has to get done this evening. Worth a try. Let's see!

**Chapter Nine: S'Wonderful**

* * *

Not three minutes later, the club was in full swing again as though Hugh's interruption had never taken place.

"S'wonderful," crooned Phryne, as various couples got up to sway themselves around the floor. "S'marvelous…that you should care for me!"

As she watched, Hugh apparently finished with Charlie, and while Charlie started back towards the piano, Dorothy leaned over and whispered something urgently to Hugh. Hugh frowned for a moment, then shrugged, straightened up, offered her his hand and then led a slightly hesitant but now beaming Dorothy out to a safe distance from the other couples.

"How's that, Miss Fisher?" With a little sigh, Charlie took up his clarinet again and settled back down in his chair.

"I'm sure you did wonderfully, Charlie," Phryne assured him quietly. "You're very much our hero…Archie and mine."

Catching sight of a familiar young woman standing only a few feet in front of the stage, Phryne shot Charlie a sly look.

"And it seems," she murmured, "that we aren't the only ones, either. You've got an avid admirer or two, don't you?"

Charlie gave freckled, moon-eyed Isla Clark an uncomfortable sort of look.

"Oh, yeah," he mumbled. "She's, uh…she's nice, Miss Clark, but, uh…"

"But she's not your type," finished Phryne. "There's no shame in knowing what you want, Charlie."

Charlie just shrugged. "Sounds like good advice, Miss Fisher. Maybe you oughta take it."

For a moment, Phryne was genuinely taken aback.

"Sorry," muttered Charlie, "but you'd have to be blind not to see it, Miss. You and Mr. Jones, I mean. I may be no detective, but I'm sure not blind. Anyway, Dr. Mac says that-!"

"Where," asked Phryne hurriedly, grasping eagerly at the change of subject, "did you and Mac meet, anyway? She's not usually the type to frequent jazz clubs, as far as I know. Is it a…professional connection, perhaps?"

Charlie started chewing on his lip, then opened his mouth as though he were going to reply when Jack interrupted.

"I'm playing this song for you, Miss Porter," Jack reminded her sternly, "and I'm not playing it particularly well. Perhaps you'd do me the honor of actually singing it? That would help mask some of the missed notes, at least."

Phryne made a face at him, then took a breath and waited for the appropriate moment to chime back in. Charlie, too, picked up his clarinet and began finding his way into the song with much more ease and clarity than Jack had.

"'S wonderful," Phryne began again, softly, "'S marvelous…that you should care for me."

She looked back over at Dorothy and Hugh, and smiled a little to see that their dancing was really just as charmingly awkward as she'd expected it to be. Dorothy was graceful enough, but she'd leaned in just a bit too close to her beau, and Hugh's movements were too stiff to be really fluid, just the way that Jack's had been the very first time that Phryne had managed to coax him out onto a dance floor.

None of that, of course, really seemed to matter.

Dorothy was all aglow, happy as could be in the arms of the man she loved. Even Hugh was smiling, and as Phryne watched, he apparently got inspired and dropped a quick, rough, awkward sort of kiss on the top of Dorothy's head. Dorothy looked up at him, startled, for a moment, and then she nestled back into his chest as they continued to make their beautiful but slightly inelegant way around the floor.

Phryne kept her eyes on them as she returned to the microphone.

"My dear," she murmured, "it's four leaf clover time; from now on my heart's working overtime. Oh, s'wonderful, s'marvelous…that you should care for meee!"

Dorothy glanced up at Phryne as Phryne held out the last note, and Phryne winked at her. Dorothy flushed, smiled even more brightly, and then, with a hasty kind of reluctance, detached herself from Hugh's arms as the song finally ended. Hugh almost immediately returned to his seat by the wall, but Phryne was sure that she could hear Dorothy humming a little bit to herself as she took her seat beside him.

"Thank you, Jack," murmured Phryne. "I think that was a nice treat for Dot."

Jack said nothing, and when Phryne turned around to look over her shoulder at him, she found him fixing her with that same strange look that she'd seen on his face when she'd caught him watching her that morning with Jane.

"Jack," she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "What on earth is it? You keep giving me that look...and I'm sure it's not the dark circles this time; I'm wearing far too much mascara for you to possibly notice that."

Jack gave her one of his softest smiles.

"It's nothing," he said quietly. "Only…you're not really always the brazen thrill-seeker that you like to pretend, are you, Miss Fisher? Every once in a while, I'm enjoying seeing your softer side. Like when it comes to Mrs. Collins, for example."

There was a tenderness in his voice, now, that Phryne couldn't quite endure, and she cleared her throat, forcing out a laugh and returning her attention to Charlie.

"I hope that I haven't gone too soft," she said airily, waving him away with a dismissive hand, slightly appalled by the warmth that had started flaring up in her cheeks and chest. "Play us another lively one, Mr. Jones. I'm borrowing Mr. Taylor for a dance."

Charlie's eyes went wide. "Wait, what?"

Before Charlie had the chance to protest too much, Phryne had him by the arm and was hauling him off the stage and onto the floor with the other couples.

"Uh, Miss," he mumbled confusedly, "I'm really not much of a-!"

"Don't worry," Phryne assured him under her breath. "I'm not making a pass at you, even if your musical prowess has opened a path to my heart, which I have no intention of confessing. I need a chance to speak to you casually, where no one will suspect that we're having a more…professional tete-a-tete."

"Uh…oh." Charlie swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, okay. I get you. Seriously, though, Miss, I'm gonna…probably step all over your toes."

"You wouldn't be the first," Phryne assured him. "I'll survive. I have excellent shoes."

Charlie shot Phryne's shoes a doubtful look, but Phryne simply placed her hands on his shoulders and began, very gently and carefully so as not to alarm him too much, to lead him in the dance.

"I have a few questions for you," she began, as Jack took the opportunity to strike up a piano tune that Phryne only vaguely thought she recognized. "I'm not sure if Hugh has asked you already, but if we come to anything that you've already answered for the police, then feel free to say so."

Charlie nodded.

"And," added Phryne, "let's keep our voices down and spirits high, shall we? I'd rather not draw any unnecessary attention. Try to look like you're having a good time."

If anything, Charlie only managed to look even more nervous.

Phryne did her best to re-angle them away from the rest of the throng, so that they were dancing themselves into the corner, near Hugh and Dorothy, rather than back out into the enthusiastic group.

"Tell me, Charlie," she asked, lowering her voice and leaning into him. "Have you ever heard of a man named Daniel Kelley?"

"Yeah," muttered Charlie, nodding. "'Course I have. He's been all over the papers, lately; some big screen actor who killed a cop or two and then broke out of prison, a few weeks ago, right?"

Phryne frowned.

Not exactly," she said, "although I suppose I'm not surprised that the gossip's gone in that direction. Daniel was being held on assault charges when he escaped from custody…and as far as I know, he hasn't murdered any policemen yet, although he's certainly done his best to kill at least two of their careers. He's also, probably, an accessory to two murders, although the police can't properly convict him until they've caught him, and that's proving…complicated, to say the least."

Charlie's eyes had narrowed, and his hands had tightened suddenly on Phryne's arms.

"You said," muttered Charlie, "that Kelley assaulted somebody? Like…?"

"Sexual assault, yes," murmured Phryne, "or, attempted sexual assault at any rate. The day was happily saved by a very courageous elderly man with an iron candelabra. I'll tell you the story, sometime, if you like; the tale of one of Melbourne's many unsung heroes."

She smiled, but Charlie didn't look amused.

"Not sure I want to hear it," he said through gritted teeth. "Good for the old guy, anyway. Never really liked Kelley much in the pictures. He's always laughing like a hyena and swinging girls around like they don't have no legs of their own to walk on."

Phryne nodded.

"A very good description," she said. "So, you know what he looks like, then?"

Charlie just shrugged.

"I know what he looks like  _in the movies,_ " he repeated, "but nothing's real in the movies, so I guess I'm not sure."

The comment was so similar to one that Daniel himself had made weeks before that, for a moment, Phryne was surprised.

"Well, I can assure you," she said eventually, "that, unfortunately, Daniel's just as roguishly handsome in real life as he is in the pictures. You'd probably know him if you saw him, and that's what I'm trying to find out, Charlie; have you seen him? Has a man who looks like Daniel Kelley, or even just a little bit like Daniel Kelley ever been here, to this club?"

"Here?" Charlie frowned, chewing thoughtfully on his lip. "I sure doubt it, Miss. I mean…would have been a pretty big deal if he had, don't you think?'

"Not," returned Phryne, "if he'd come quietly…in secret, so that almost no one would have noticed. He may even have come disguised or heavily made up; he's certainly capable of that sort of thing. Have there been any unusual or unexpected visitors lately who fit that description?"

"Disguised, huh?" For a long moment, Charlie just frowned down at his shoes, and his feet stopped as he struggled to handle mastering his footwork and thinking hard at the same time.

"This is important, Charlie," whispered Phryne. "There may be lives at stake. Please…if you think that there's any possibility that you might have seen him-!"

"Lives, huh?" Slowly, Charlie looked back up into Phryne's eyes. "So that's it, then. You think…you think this Kelley might have killed Mrs. Todd?"

I'm sure he did," sighed Phryne. "There's…well, suffice it to say we have some very concrete evidence that Daniel's still in Melbourne, and that he had good reason to need Clara Todd out of the picture."

Charlie nodded slowly.

"No," he said, decisive at last. "I haven't seen him, Miss Fisher….but maybe somebody has."

"And maybe," added Phryne, smiling, "you might ask your waitresses about it…the ones who are always so fond of gossiping about Arche's drinking habits, and about the latest police report hearsay. They might know something."

"Yeah," agreed Charlie. "Yeah…maybe they might. I can ask. I will ask, Miss."

"Please do." Phryne raised an eyebrow at him. "But Charlie, be careful. Daniel's a dangerous man, and the very last thing we want is another murder on our hands. Don't be too brave, do you understand me?"

Again, Charlie just nodded, and he and Phryne finished the rest of their dance in contemplative silence, Charlie still staring at his feet while Phryne took the opportunity to cast her eyes around the room, wondering idly if there was anyone else in the club, besides Mr. Todd, who she might want to pull aside.

Hugh had given up on dancing for the moment, and he was dutifully walking around from waitress, to bar tender, to unsuspecting patron, nodding and muttering to them in low, inaudible tones with his police notebook poised at the ready.

Dorothy, halfway across the room from him, seemed to have made friends with a few younger ladies, all of whom were dressed as though this might be their first time out at a club without mother's permission. They were talking together in hushed voices, and every now and then, one of them would erupt into giggles.

 _Well done, Dot and Hugh,_ thought Phryne approvingly.  _So far, so good._

Glancing over her shoulder at Jack, Phryne found him just playing the final few chords of the song. Once he'd finished, while everyone was applauding politely, he reached up on top of the piano to retrieve the whisky glass.

 _Oh no you don't,_ thought Phryne, narrowing her eyes at him.

"My turn to play, I think," murmured Charlie, gently disentangling himself from her and starting back towards the stage. "Any request, Miss Fisher?"

Phryne thought about it for a moment, and then nodded, smiling to herself.

"Just one," she told Charlie. "How familiar are you with the work of Cole Porter?"

She leaned in to whisper something in Charlie's hear, and then while he sat down to play, she seated herself on the piano bench next to Jack.

"Ah, Miss Porter," murmured Jack. "Did you enjoy your dance?"

"Tremendously," she returned, "but I'm not nearly spent yet."

At that moment, the very first notes of what was rapidly becoming Phryne's favorite song drifted melodiously to them from Charlie's clarinet, and Jack widened his eyes in surprise.

"Listen Jack," whispered Phryne, taking him gently by the arm. "They're playing our song, and we're getting a break. Let's you and I misbehave."

 _We're all alone…no chaperone can get our number,_ wordlessly hummed the clarinet.  _The world's in slumber…_

"No," said Jack firmly.

"Yes," insisted Phryne. "Just one dance, Archie, really. I did tell you that I was going to expect you to show me a good time, and one way or another I'm getting you off of this bench, at least for a song. There's no getting out of it, I'm afraid."

Jack shot a quick, irritated glance at Charlie, who seemed to be doing his level best not to look in their direction.

Reaching over Jack for the whisky glass, Phryne held it up.

"Let's face it," she said matter-of-factly. "Of the two drugs on this stage at the moment, I'm really the more interesting one. If you're going to indulge, let's at least both get something out of it. Besides, I'm much less likely to give you a headache in the morning."

"You," retorted Jack under his breath, "are much less likely to still be there in the morning."

Phryne shrugged.

"All the better," she said. "Makes it a much safer bet, doesn't it? Come on, then."

In one magnificent swig, Phryne put the whisky glass to her lips and downed the entire contents, gently placing it back down on the piano and getting swiftly to her feet.

"Decidedly unfair," muttered Jack.

"Life's not fair," returned Phryne, taking him firmly by the arm.

Jack didn't put up too much of a fight as Phryne led him off the stage and back down onto the floor.

"Let me tell you," she began, as Jack's hands tightened ever so slightly around her waist, sending that delectable little forbidden thrill up her spine, "exactly what Charlie and I discussed just now, regarding our famous escapee."

* * *

 **Author's End Note:** Argh there are people in my parent's house hammering on things and installing carpets and making an unreasonable amount of very loud noises! How can I concentrate like this, on studying, writing, or lesson planning?

Apparently I'm going out to the Starbucks down the street for the rest of the day. Perhaps I'll have time to update from there, later, if I manage to get everything else done.


	11. Chapter Ten: Someone to Watch Over Me

**Author's Note:** *sigh* So this story has finally gotten it's first genuine flame. Honestly, friends, please remember to make good choices on the internet. Writing me vitriolic emails that say things like "your characters make me sick," and "your Jack is a spineless piece of shit," really will never earn you any points. I'm frankly just embarrassed for you when I get tirades like that. Anonymity doesn't save you from looking ridiculous, and it doesn't improve anyone's day.

Let's just leave that there. No reason to discuss the matter any further. Of course, the grand majority of you lovely readers are incredibly respectful, even more so when you disagree with me, and for that I am eternally grateful.

This has been a public service announcement from Miss Moriarty, professional early childhood manners educator. Thank you.

And now, back to our show. :)

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Someone to Watch Over Me**

Jack's shift at the piano didn't end until after midnight, and by the time that he and Phryne finished up, Hugh and Dorothy were already long gone. After saying goodbye to Charlie and Mr. Todd, they drove home together in Phryne's motorcar, and Phryne had the courtesy to drive only a few miles over the speed limit in order to give Jack a chance to enjoy the crisp evening air.

"You must be tired," said Phryne absently as they turned the corner and headed up the street to her house. "It's been a long couple of nights for you."

She parked the car at the curb, and Jack jumped out first, strolling around to the other side to open the door for her.

"Ever the gentleman," she murmured appreciatively, giving him a smile.

"It's not over yet," he muttered, while they walked up the drive together. "The long nights, I mean. I promised Todd that you'd ben 'an asset to our investigation.'"

"I'll do my best not to disappoint," replied Phryne. "Don't worry; just because I'm enjoying myself just the tiniest bit doesn't mean that I'm not taking it seriously. I know what's at stake."

Jack honestly wasn't sure that she did.

 _If she's special,_ he heard Mr. Todd saying in his head,  _then that seems like an even better reason to keep her as far out of it as you can._

"Admit it, Jack," Phryne was saying, standing in front of the door with her key in her hand. "You did have just a little bit of fun tonight, didn't you?"

"It's a job," muttered Jack.

"And," added Phryne, "you managed to have all the fun without any of the liquid courage. What a relief that's going to be in the morning."

She turned, inserted the key into the lock, and then paused just before pulling the door open.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

"Oh…nothing," murmured Phryne. "But aren't we…forgetting something?"

Jack frowned.

Phryne smiled, just a little bit sadly.

"No goodnight kiss for me, then," she whispered, "to help guide me into sweet dreams of my gentleman as the sun comes up over Melbourne?"

That same, familiar softness was in her eyes, again, and Jack felt a lump catch in his throat.

 _Nothing good can this way lie,_ he reminded himself, having a hard time tearing his eyes away from the very slight pout on Phryne's lips.

"I'm afraid not tonight,' he managed, a little more hoarsely than he'd hoped. "I offered you that, once."

"And it was magical," murmured Phryne.

"But I believe," continued Jack firmly, clearing his throat, "that we agreed to refrain from anything of the sort…for both our sakes. I thought we couldn't afford to..."

He had almost said "couldn't afford to fall in love," but at the last moment he choked on the phrase and swallowed it hard.

"That we couldn't afford to risk it," said Phryne softly. "No…maybe we can't, Jack, but we're not ourselves tonight, are we? Perhaps Inspector Jack Robinson and Miss Phryne Fisher can't afford to make mistakes, but maybe, just for a night, Archie Jones and Pearl Porter can get away with misbehaving."

She took a step closer to him, and Jack felt his heart start pounding the way it always did, and he suddenly and very vividly remembered what it had felt like only hours ago to hold her in his arms again, even if just for a few minutes of what was rapidly becoming his least favorite song.

"It's all been an evening of playing pretend," said Phryne, shrugging. "Let's keep playing…just for a little while."

There was danger in her eyes, but Jack noticed that she wasn't using her sultry, seductive voice with him; the one that she used when she was teasing or trying to get a rise, or when she was doing her best to make him jealous by luring another man into her toils right in front of him. There was something entirely too real and unguarded about her voice, now, and about the way she was gazing at him that plucked at Jacks' heartstrings and forced him to wrestle with a very complicated sort of softer desire that was threatening to burst its confines and render him completely without defenses.

"It's too late for that now," he heard himself say under his breath. "I'd never be satisfied with 'just for one night,' and…honestly, I don't believe that you would be, either. Not anymore."

Phryne paused, frowned, and then sighed.

"There's…always tomorrow morning," she murmured, although her heart no longer seemed to be in it.

"I suppose there is," muttered Jack, maybe a little more coldly than he really needed to, for both their sakes. "And, what about after that?"

Phryne said nothing in response to that, but as Jack pushed gently past her and through the door, he heard her sigh a wistful, lonely sort of sigh, and a miserably misguided little thrill of hope shot through him, making him shiver as Phryne joined him and shut the door behind her.

"A girl can dream," she whispered, still smiling.

"And I'd never deny you that," returned Jack, nodding at her. "Goodnight, Miss Fisher."

He started up the stairs, and this time Phryne didn't follow.

"Sweet dreams, Jack," she called after him.

 _All days are nights to see till I see thee,_ thought Jack confusedly, pulling open the door to his borrowed guest bedroom with the sounds of Phryne's last little lovelorn sigh still echoing around in his brain.  _And nights bright days when dreams do show me thee._

* * *

The next morning, Jack and Hugh stopped by Jack's home together to collect a few sets of clean clothes before heading for the City South station.

Lost in his own thoughts of elusive killers, miserable lovelorn bartenders and seductively sincere Phryne Fishers, it was a little while before Jack realized that something wasn't quite right with Hugh.

Hugh had been sitting alongside him in the car for several minutes, now in almost perfect silence, which was unusual considering how long he and Jack had been investigating together. Hugh wasn't exactly a chatterbox, but he was usually a little more talkative than this, or at the very least basically friendly.

Today, Jack realized, he hadn't gotten much more so far than a "good morning, sir," out of Hugh.

"Collins," said Jack. "Is...anything bothering you?"

"What?" Hugh shot Jack a quick look, then hurriedly shook his head. "No, sir, nothing at all."

Again, they both lapsed into what Jack was now aware was a distinctly uncomfortable silence.

"If there's anything you'd like to discuss with me, Constable," began Jack again, "then I suggest we do it now, before we reach the station. Probably better to get it out of your system before work."

Hugh winced.

"Go on, then," Jack encouraged him. "What is it?"

"Uh…" Hugh took a deep breath. "It's just, sir, that…well, Miss Fisher says that you've been working at that Three Brothers Place for almost three weeks, now…is that right?"

 _Ah,_ thought Jack.

"Yes," he said, "that's right."

"Right," muttered Hugh. "And…you didn't think to tell me about it, sir? I mean…I know that, uh, you've got no obligation, of course, and it's not exactly as though you and I are  _partners_ ; not exactly, it's only that-!"

"We are partners, Collins," interrupted Jack. "You've never given me any reason to feel otherwise."

Hugh frowned.

"Not…not even when I let Kelley get away?" He sighed. "I know that it wasn't my finest hour, sir, and I swear that I'll do everything in my power to prove to you and to everyone else that I'm still fit for a badge, but I-!"

"It's got nothing whatsoever to do with Kelley's escape," interrupted Jack firmly. "I need you to understand that, Collins; I've never, not for a moment, been ashamed of you or considered asking for a replacement. You made a mistake; it wouldn't be the first time a policeman's been outmatched. It wasn't carelessness on your part that allowed Kelley to escape. The bruise on the side of your should have made that perfectly clear to everyone. You did your best."

"I'm an experienced boxer, sir," mumbled Hugh. "I should have done better…I should have done you proud."

I've no doubt," retorted Jack, "that you'll do us proud, still."

Slowly, Hugh nodded.

"Then…why, sir," he demanded hesitantly, "didn't you let me in on the cover at the Three Brothers?"

Jack let out a short, frustrated breath.

 _Because I suppose there's something I wanted to prove,_ he thought.  _Because I wanted to catch the killer on my own and to show the world and Phryne Fisher just how much of a brave, bold, exciting man I can be. Because I didn't want you to be ashamed of me for the habits I've slipped into, and because I didn't want you to realize how much sleep I've been losing at nights. Because although I may still be perfectly forgiving of you, it's me that I'm none too proud of, and I'm far from ready for anyone else to find out how confused it's all become._

"You've been keeping your own secrets, Collins," he said aloud instead, glancing at Hugh out of the corner of his eye. "I won't ask what you've been doing with all your unexplained personal time of late, as it's really none of my business, but-!"

"It's Dottie, sir," blurted out Hugh unexpectedly. "She's…I mean, it was only a false alarm."

He swallowed, and Jack took his eyes off the road for a moment to stare.

"A…false alarm?" Jack frowned. "You mean, you and Mrs. Collins thought that she might be…pregnant?"

Hugh looked miserable.

"Yes sir," he said quietly. "Not this time, though, as it happens. The doctor says that she, uh, she might have been pregnant, actually, only it…well, I suppose it didn't quite take."

Jack winced.

"I'm afraid I don't understand exactly how it works," continued Hugh, a bit too quickly, almost as though he couldn't stop the words now that they'd started to flow. "Seems Dottie's…having a bit of a hard time, really. She, uh, she…well, I guess we have to consider the possibility, sir, that she might not…"

Hugh trailed off, staring straight ahead of him.

"That she might not be able to have children," said Jack, very gently.

Hugh only nodded, his eyes still fixed straight ahead of him.

For a few moments they drove on in silence.

"I'm sorry sir," mumbled Hugh eventually, clearing his throat. "That's really….I mean, I'm sure that you didn't need to know any of that."

Jack reached over and very briefly laid a hand on Hugh's shoulder.

"I'm very sorry to hear that you're having troubles," he said simply. "Luckily for Mrs. Collins, you have each other, and she has her work. She shouldn't despair."

"Oh, she won't," Hugh assured him, shaking his head. "Dottie's a rock…always keeping her spirits up, and mine. She's amazing, really; like you wouldn't believe. I'm the one being foolish about it, I guess."

Again, a silence spread out between them, but this time it was much less uncomfortable; much more the silence of two men in unspoken commiseration.

"I really wanted to be a Dad," whispered Hugh, shaking his head. "I…I wanted to have a family. I would have been a great dad…I think. Just like mine would have been, if he'd been around a little longer."

"I believe you would, Collins," agreed Jack.

"Yeah," mumbled Hugh, nodding. "Yeah…thank you."

* * *

Back at Miss Fisher's residence, Phryne, Dorothy and Jane were huddled around the piano in the parlor, looking through old songbooks of jazz favorites that had been popular last year and the year before.

"What a lucky coincidence," remarked Jane, "that the singer at the Three Brothers got sick just on the day that you needed to stand in…don't you think so, Miss Fisher? Or, is that really a very terrible thing to say?"

"It's terrible wishing harm on other people," murmured Dorothy, "but once it's already happened, I don't suppose there's anything we can do one way or another. Doesn't seem fair to say that you're horrible just for rejoicing at a bit of luck."

Miss Fisher shrugged.

"It's lucky for me, certainly," she said, "but not for the poor girl who's just lost a job. There are reasons that we take precautions when it comes to situations like these, Jane, and I suppose you're more than old enough to know about it. We have to be exceedingly careful not to let little happy 'accidents' bar us from our chosen futures."

Jane blinked.

"You mean," she asked, "the singer was pregnant, Miss? I…I didn't realize she was that kind of sick."

Phryne only shook her head.

Dorothy, who had her back to them with her face buried in a songbook, suddenly cleared her throat and took a deep breath.

"I don't think we should assume," she said quietly, "that it's so very unfortunate that she's going to have a baby. For all we know, it's what she's always wanted. Perhaps she's no end of delighted."

"She very well might be, Dot," agreed Phryne, "and if so of course I'm happy for her, but that's certainly not the impression that I got from Mr. Todd. Accidental babies do tend to put a damper on promising careers; and if she's an unmarried woman, which I presume she is, then she'll have her work cut out for her to find an income once the baby's old enough to need food and clothes. They may start out looking cute and cuddly, but a baby is more than just a responsibility; it's a terrible black financial hole for many women who find themselves woefully unprepared by runaway spouses or fathers who won't commit. Sad, but all too frequently very true."

"My friend Joyce," murmured Jane, "was going to have a baby; she had a boyfriend the next town over, but then his family moved to England, and…well, he went with them. I don't suppose he was really going to marry her. I never liked him much."

Phryne frowned. "Always trust your instincts, Jane; you're probably perfectly right about this boy. And your friend? What will she do?"

Jane opened her mouth to respond, but before she had a chance, Dorothy suddenly and unexpectedly sniffled loudly into her songbook, and both Phryne and Jane turned to stare at her in alarm.

"Dot," asked Phryne, "what is it?"

Dorothy just shook her head, shut the book and shoved it away, dabbing at her eyes with a pocket handkerchief.

"Motherhood," she managed, doing her stoic best to get her face back under control, "seems like a perfectly lovely and very promising sort of career to me, Miss…all on its own."

Phryne and Jane exchanged a look.

"Jane," began Phryne.

Jane nodded.

"I was just thinking," she said quietly, "that I'd love some tea. I'll just go and ask Mr. Butler for a tray, shall I? Be right back."

With that, Jane tripped out of the room, leaving Phryne and the still sniffling Dorothy in her wake.

"She's growing up into a very beautiful young lady, Miss," whispered Dorothy.

"Dot," murmured Phryne, crossing over to her and placing a gentle hand on her arm. "What on earth's happened?"

"I'm sorry," managed Dorothy, shaking her head and sucking in a sharp breath. "Really not sure what's come over me. It's just…it took me by surprise, Miss, all this talk about babies, and…and about mothers."

Phryne took a long look at Dorothy's tear stained face and then settled down into the chair beside her and waited patiently for Dorothy to regain her composure.

"Dot," she whispered, "Perhaps I shouldn't ask this, but, you're not...?"

"No," insisted Dorothy, "no, I'm not pregnant. I'm not…I'm…I'm not. But, you see, Hugh and I were so sure. The doctor said that I must have been, and we were just getting ready to tell everyone how happy we were, when….when it turned out that the doctor was wrong. I'm not sure how that can happen, Miss Phryne; how can the doctor be wrong?"

"It does happen sometimes," said Phryne quietly. "Doctors certainly aren't infallible...Mac could tell you stories. But…Dot, darling, when did this happen? How long have you-?"

"Just last week," interrupted Dorothy. "Just…just a few days ago, actually. It was right before I came."

"And you never told me," murmured Phryne.

"Didn't really seem important, Miss," whispered Dorothy, "in light of what's going on with…with Mr. Kelley, and everything. I wouldn't want you to worry, and I didn't want to intrude, and I thought-!"

"It absolutely is important," interrupted Phryne gently. "It's clearly very important to you."

Dorothy said nothing in response, just sniffled and then held her breath for a moment to try and fend off the tears.

"Dot," began Phryne carefully, "just because motherhood isn't something that I myself look forward to, that doesn't mean that I can't understand that you're in pain. I know how much you wanted this…how much you and Hugh wanted to be a family."

"Yes, Miss," whispered Dorothy miserably. "But perhaps this is…well, I'm sure it's all part of the lord's plan, isn't it? Perhaps I…I really wasn't ever meant to be a mother."

"Oh, what nonsense," returned Phryne. "You're still young; there's plenty of time, yet. It didn't work out this time, certainly, but I'm sure that Hugh wouldn't object to giving it another try…and another."

She winked at Dorothy, and Dorothy just barely managed to snort a laugh.

"And in the meantime," finished Phryne, perhaps a bit more sternly than she'd begun, "please don't ever, ever feel that you can't tell me, or that you'd be a burden if you did."

Dorothy just nodded.

Thank you, Miss," she managed.

"There's nothing to thank me, for," insisted Phryne, shaking her head. "I may not be looking forward to a husband of my own and a house full of children, but I've always felt, and I hope you don't mind me saying so, that you and Hugh are…well, in a way, a part of our little family. Myself, Jane, Mr. Butler…we may not be as traditional as Hugh's mother might like, but you're an important part of our lives, Dot, and I think that's what family's supposed to be…and what it's supposed to mean."

This time, Dorothy did almost manage a small smile.

"And that," Phryne finished, "although it may not be quite exactly what you were hoping for, is very important to me, for what it's worth."

Dorothy nodded.

"Me too, Miss," she said quietly. "It's very important to me, too."

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

So, pacing is still going a little strangely, and we obviously took a little departure here to delve more deeply into Dot and Hugh's life. We'll be seeing a little more of their marriage and how it's progressing in further chapters, since I'm sort of interested in exploring the idea of families and how they develop from different emotional places and in different ways, particularly when it comes to the characters that are surrounding our two beloved commitment-phobes.

I'm rambling. So many big ideas about character development, so much difficulty expressing them. Hopefully you'll love it when we get there.

I suppose this is the infamous "second act" of the three act drama - the middle chapter in all trilogies which explores darker places/directions and involves less action and more uncertain cliffhangers..like "The Empire Strikes Back!"

...yup, I'd better get some sleep.


	12. Chapter Eleven: If I Had You

**Author's Note:** Strange, but I'm just not feeling much like writing this morning. Actually…I'm not feeling much like doing anything at all. I tried going for a run, but I didn't get very far before I realized that I was out of interest, if not energy.

I just don't seem to be able to get excited about anything, today. Perhaps after I write this chapter, I'll just go back to sleep. Strange, the tricks that the mind plays on us.

In more interesting news; well-read and well-researched reader  **tisziny**  draws our attention to the fact that there really weren't any reliable methods of pregnancy testing in the 1920s, although there was something disturbing having to do, potentially, with rats, that wasn't widely used. Anyway. There is no concrete way, at the moment, for Dot to know if she can or cannot have children, or really when she's pregnant, other than the basic signs that most women recognize and learn to be wary of. It is, therefore, very easy for this mistake to have been made…and no, it is absolutely not certain whether or not she's infertile. They have fears, but they can't be sure, and I won't commit one way or another to saying whether she is or isn't really. You'll have to wait and see about that.

Just a little bit of historical detail brought to you by people like  **tistiny**  who pay attention, and lord how I love it when you pay that kind of close attention. Thanks!

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: If I Had You**

Later that night, while Dorothy and Jane were in Jane's room sorting through two giant suitcases of books, Phryne finished putting on her mascara and took a deep, steadying breath.

She felt uncharacteristically unmotivated, and the spark just wouldn't light. She found that somehow, she really wasn't looking forward to a harrowing, disguised night on the town as much as she was sure she should have been. Half of her more nightclub-appropriate wardrobe was lying abandoned on the bed, having been tried on, rejected, and discarded. None of it had seemed to suit.

Phryne wasn't feeling particularly gaudy, just at the moment.

She'd ultimately settled for a pink silk sheath, without embellishments, that went down to her ankles and covered potentially even enough for Dorothy's tastes. With an imitation pearl necklace around her throat and a little white feather-pin in her hair, Phryne looked in the mirror and tried to be glamorous, but couldn't help thinking that, even with all the makeup and the shimmer, she suddenly looked and felt inexplicably old.

"Miss Fisher," called Mr. Butler from just outside the door. "Is everything all right? The Inspector is waiting downstairs."

 _Jack,_ thought Phryne, wincing as she remembered, for probably the one hundredth time since she'd woken up that morning, just exactly how they'd left each other the night before.

Phryne sighed.

"Coming, Mr. Butler," she called, getting up from the dresser and heading for the door.

Jack was indeed downstairs, this time wearing a different suite in a refreshingly slightly darker shade of brown.

"Miss Fisher," murmured Jack, nodding.

"Jack," replied Phryne. "I like this one. It's a nice change. The color suits your eyes."

Jack glanced down at his jacket, frowning.

"It's brown," he muttered.

Phryne just shook her head at him.

He didn't offer her his arm, and she didn't try to take it as they walked out together towards the car. Jack didn't say a word, and he kept his eyes fixed in front of him until they were both settled into the car and Phryne was preparing to start it.

"I…don't suppose," she murmured a whim, "that you'd like to drive?"

It sounded silly, honestly, but she'd felt as though she really just needed something to say; anything at all.

Jack shot her a very doubtful look.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he muttered. "Was that a trick question?"

Phryne laughed, but Jack didn't seem to share her amusement.

He turned his attention back to the road, and Phryne shut her eyes for a moment and took another quick breath.

"Jack," she said again, a little more softly this time, "I should say something. I…I really am sorry about what happened last night."

Jack only gave her a curt little nod.

"So am I," he said simply.

Again, he lapsed into silence, and Phryne found that she still couldn't leave it quite like that.

"I lost my head, I suppose," she said, forcing a smile and wishing he'd turn and look her in the eye, at least. "What with the dancing, the moonlight, the evening air...how nice it was to have you hold me again."

Jack stiffened and coughed, but Phryne forged ahead.

"I let the ambiance get the better of me," she murmured. "I feel for the spell…that's all. I got carried away, and I shouldn't have. I should never have…offered. I know it must have upset you."

Jack only shook his head. "All is forgotten," he told her, but Phryne didn't buy it.

"I haven't forgotten it," she retorted. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

Jack opened his mouth as though to speak, then apparently thought better of it and shook his head, looking slightly pained.

"You were right, you know," insisted Phryne. "It wouldn't have been enough. You and I really aren't the dallying kind anymore, are we? I don't deny that it might have been wonderful in the moment, but...in the morning, I suppose it wouldn't have turned out to be what I wanted. Not really."

"And what," demanded Jack, finally turning and meeting her gaze with a very steady, serious one of his own, "is it that you do want, Miss Fisher?"

Phryne found that question unexpectedly hard to answer. Throwing up her hands, she leaned back for a moment against the car seat and shook her head, smiling grimly to herself.

"I want everything to be simple and uncomplicated again," she told him honestly. "I want to have fun the way we used to…I want to be friends again without hurting you every time I forget that I'm not supposed to smile at you too much. I want to be allowed to touch you without both of us feeling like we've done something terribly wrong."

Jack coughed.

"I'm sorry," he said stiffly, "for making things complicated."

"Oh, don't be like that," sighed Phryne, exasperated. "You know that's not what I meant, Jack. I…I miss you, you know."

Jack raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'm right here," he reminded her, and even that low-voiced reassurance made something ache annoyingly inside Phryne.

"But it's not the same," she said quietly. "It's lonelier, now, and before you say something noble and ridiculous like 'don't worry, when this case is over I'll be sure to leave you alone,' that obviously wouldn't make any of it feel better, so please don't you dare threaten to walk away…not again."

Jack only shrugged.

"I really don't know what you want me to do," he told her simply.

Phryne looked out the window at her house across the street, absently watching the shadows as they played in the upstairs rooms.

"I want the moon," she murmured. "I want you to care for me without needing me to be a different woman entirely; but that's not how love works, is it? We don't really fall in love with a person…only with an idea of what that person might metamorphose into in the right set of welcoming arms. I'm no man's only girl, and I'm not a romantic, and yes, Jack, maybe I'm a coward, maybe, but I want all of that to be all right with you. It's selfish, certainly, but you asked."

"It is all right with me," Jack insisted. "I've always told you that I'd never ask you to change."

"But it isn't all right, really" returned Phryne gently. "It isn't what you really want…not at it's core, not in the way I wish it could be; really, genuinely all right. Maybe it's not so all right with me, either. I just…I wish it could be safe and comfortable between us, again. I suppose there's no chance of our ever being friends. My fault just as much as yours. I told you...I want the moon; something impossible, but I've gotten so very good at reaching for what I know I can't or shouldn't have. I've always struggled to break a habit."

Jack didn't seem to have a response to that, so Phryne just did her best to gather herself, planted a smile back on her face and started the car.

For the longest time, neither of them could find a thing to say to one another.

"Did Mrs. Collins tell you," asked Jack eventually, still without really looking at her, "about her...difficulties?"

"Yes," replied Phryne, negotiating a sharp corner and jarring Jack into holding on to the side of the car for dear life. "Not at first, but eventually. Poor Dot. It's probably not as bad as all that, though; even if this does turn out to be as serious as she's afraid it will, she still has so much…Hugh, for one thing, and her work, for another. If she wanted to, she could always come back and work with me. She'll always have a place with me; forever."

"That may not be enough for her," countered Jack. "Not everyone is satisfied with just work. Even a true vocation isn't always fulfilling enough on its own."

Phryne nodded.

"Unfortunately, you're probably right," she said. "About Dot, anyway. Hugh, too, must be absolutely devastated, of course."

"He is," agreed Jack.

"I'm sure," murmured Phryne.

Another car pulled out in front of them, and Phryne just managed to pull her own to a screeching halt before a collision occurred. The other driver shouted something angrily at them as he pulled way, but Phryne paid it no mind.

"Jack," she asked suddenly. "What about you? Do you think you'd want a family? Children, I mean, and…in-laws, I suppose, and the collective works. The white picket fence life. Do you think that would fulfill you?"

"Phryne," began Jack warningly.

"I'm not talking about us," insisted Phryne, "obviously. It's an academic question, Jack. You can answer with impunity."

Jack sighed.

"I don't know," he mumbled after a moment. "It might. I used to think it would."

"With Rosie," suggested Phryne.

"Yes," admitted Jack wearily, "with Rosie. I suppose that was the idea when I originally got married; we'd start a family and move on with our lives in the expected direction."

"And…now?" Phryne glanced curiously at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Things have changed," muttered Jack. "Maybe. Maybe they haven't. I like to think," he added, clearing his throat and now very carefully not looking at Phryne again, "that I could be happy with any life, as long as you were happy. I like to think that I could be that kind of a man…for you."

Phryne's heart shuddered and she turned her attention hastily back to the road.

"But you couldn't," she told him, smiling softly and shaking her head. "And it wouldn't be fair to ask…which is why I never have."

"Not until last night," agreed Jack.

Phryne flinched.

"There's that," he continued, "as well as the fact that you're worried, apparently, that I might be bumped off by your English ex-lover."

Shooting a glance at him out of the corner of her eye, Phryne was almost startled into a perverse sort of laugh.

"It's…a little more complicated than that," she insisted. "Don't make fun, Jack, I already admitted to being potentially a coward, and that's more conscious vulnerability than I've ever given anyone else. You should be flattered."

Jack didn't return the smile.

"I'm going to catch him, Phryne," he assured her.

"We're going to catch him," Phryne corrected him.

Jack only nodded

"And," he went on, "when we do, the nightmares will be over."

The Three Brothers Club premises came into view, and Phryne pulled the car up alongside the street in the spot that Mr. Todd had designated for her the evening before.

"These nightmares, maybe," she told Jack as they climbed together out of the car. "Daniel's nightmares."

"Yes," said Jack.

"And," murmured Phryne, echoing the very same sentiments that Jack had expressed the night before, "what about after that?"

This time, Jack really did have no response, but he did offer Phryne his arm. She took it carefully, and found that he held her just a little closer to him than usual as they strolled together through the club's front doors.

As soon as they got inside, Charlie Taylor got up from changing his reed over by the piano and came hurriedly to meet them.

"Mr. Jones, Miss Porter!" Charlie looked agitated. "There you are! I've been waiting."

Jack and Phryne looked quickly at each other. Charlie was so eager that it seemed dangerously as though he was going to spill whatever it was he wanted to say right there, at that moment, in the middle of the crowded club, unless they stopped him in a hurry.

"Oh, can't it wait, Charlie?" Phryne gave an exaggerated yawn, covering her mouth daintily with one hand. "Not now,  _please_. I need a drink…"

Jack picked up immediately on Phryne's cue.

"You can't drink while you're working," he told her, shaking his head. "I'll buy you one after we're finished. You'll come with us, won't you, Charlie?"

"You're such a bore, Archie,' muttered Phryne, reflecting with dry amusement that the persona of Archibald Jones was hardly one to start lecturing about drinking on the job. "Do come, Charlie," she went on. "Archie's really such a bore…I could use some better company."

Jack raised an eyebrow at Phryne, and she fluttered her eyelashes innocently at him. The shadow of a smile started playing on his lips, and even though he stifled it before it could get much farther, Phryne suddenly found herself feeling just the tiniest bit better than she had during that brief, dark, emotionally complex ride in the motorcar.

"Uh, sure," mumbled Charlie, looking very slightly put out. "After we play, then."

He turned and headed back towards the stage, and Jack, still with his arm linked through Phryne's, followed after him.

"Where," asked Phryne, settling herself on the piano bench beside Jack, "shall we begin today, gentlemen?"

She started to open the songbook on the piano, but Jack shook his head at her.

"My turn," he told her.

Phryne raised an eyebrow at him, and Charlie looked surprised, but Jack, without bothering to look at the book of music, placed his fingers on the keys and shut his eyes.

"You're going to sing," whispered Phryne. "What a special treat for me, Archie. I must have done something right...or perhaps just wrong enough."

Jack ignored her.

He played himself slowly into the music, his fingers lingering tantalizingly over the notes as he took a breath and prepared to sing. Phryne found that she was holding her own breath, and she smiled as he started the song in that wonderfully low, soft-spoken, almost intimate voice of his while Charlie, nodding to himself, quietly and subtly found his way to backing Jack up with the clarinet.

"I could show the world how to smile," sang Jack gently. "I could be glad all the while…I could turn the gray skies to blue, if I had you…baby, by my side."

Phryne was only vaguely aware that various other people in the club had started to turn and focus on the stage, and a few eager couples had gotten up to dance.

It didn't matter. Phryne was all too certain, despite the crowded club, that Jack wasn't singing for anyone but her.

"I could leave the old days behind," he murmured, "Leave all my pals; I'd never mind. I could start my whole life anew…if I had you."

Jack was very carefully keeping his eyes on the keys as he played, and suddenly, Phryne realized that she'd somehow, unconsciously, moved very, very close to him on the bench; so close that their arms were now more than just touching. Abruptly she got to her feet, and, on a whim, hoisted herself up onto the piano in one fluid movement, letting her legs dangle down the side as she joined in with the song.

"I could climb a snow-capped mountain," she began.

"Sail the mighty ocean wide," returned Jack.

"I could cross the burning desert," Phryne murmured, "If I had you by my side."

She paused, and Charlie chimed in with the clarinet, playing the next verse wordlessly, letting Jack and Phryne breathe for a moment as he let the music croon for itself.

The instrumental went on for a good minute or so, and Phryne found that she was afraid even to try to catch Jack's eye.

"I could be a king-uncrowned," he sang when Charlie had finished, "Humble or poor…rich or renowned."

"There is nothing I couldn't do," whispered Phryne, "If I had you."

Jack finished the song, and while Charlie played them out, Phryne finally looked over at Jack and realized that this time, when he gazed into her eyes, it had nothing to do with dark circles of any kind.

* * *

 **Author's End Note:** It's time for some more of the murder plot.

Maybe I'll be able to get there today. G did offer to take me out to karaoke this evening, though…that would

 


	13. Chapter Twelve: I've Found a New Baby

**Author's Note:** We didn't end up going out last night after all. Unfortunately, although I had every intention of updating last evening, this time it was brain injury that got in the way. I've had one of my unbelievable migraines since middle of yesterday, and I can only see sort of out of one side of my face. I've gotten pretty damn good at typing without being able to perfectly see what I'm doing, but I will warn that, as this is seriously going to be impede my ability to proofread, this chapter might have a LOT of typos. Please forgive me; I am terribly sorry if this turns out to be illegible. I'll do what I can.

We were supposed to go out tonight, as well. Sometimes, I really don't much care for what's left of my brain. Luckily G's always very patient about it.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: I've Found a New Baby**

Long after they'd finished playing and the club had closed for the night, Phryne and Jack sat in Phryne's drawing room sharing a bottle of champagne and waiting for Charlie Taylor.

"I thought you said," remarked Jack, "that Mr. Butler was forbidden from offering me anything to drink?"

Phryne just shrugged.

"He is," she told him. "And he hasn't. I'm the one who tempted you this time."

"This time," muttered Jack, snorting a derisive little laugh.

Apparently, Phryne ignored him.

"Anyway," she insisted, "you're not miserably boozing yourself silly behind the privacy of your piano, just now. We're sharing a companionable drink. There's nothing particularly dangerous about that."

Jack raised an eyebrow at her.

"I would argue," he retorted, "that this situation is significantly more dangerous than any risky indulgence at the club."

"Don't worry," Phryne assured him, smiling slightly. "We'll be taking this risk together."

Still with memories of last night's near-miss preying on his mind, Jack was all too aware of what a bad idea it was to be drinking and bantering with Phryne alone in her drawing room in the middle of the night.

Unfortunately, Jack found that he was having a hard time holding himself back, now; especially after their romantically musical evening at the club, and after the things that Phryne had just barely managed not to say and that Jack had tried valiantly to convince himself that he hadn't heard during the motorcar ride hours before.

Now, still perfectly sober and as in control of his faculties as ever, Jack found that he couldn't really bring himself to care, anymore, that Phryne Fisher was an accident waiting to happen; one that had already almost happened more than once or twice. It was almost enough that she'd now made it clear on more than one occasion that she desperately wanted him to stay.

Almost enough.

Just as Jack was starting to wonder if maybe it wasn't a much better idea for him to reject the drink and go up to his own room until the visitors arrived, there was a knock on the front door. Wordlessly, Phryne got up, crossed into the hallway, and then came back a few moments later with Charlie and, unexpectedly Miss Isla Clark in tow.

Isla looked very much as though she'd been crying, and as Charlie led her into the drawing room, she clung to his arm and gazed wildly up at Jack and Phryne with alarm in her eyes.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss," muttered Charlie, carefully detaching himself from Isla and seating himself a good several inches away from her on the sofa. "Isla's got something she wants to say to you."

Isla, now abandoned by her beau, stared around her for a moment with her lip beginning to quiver.

"Thank you very much for coming, Miss Clark," murmured Phryne, seating herself quietly on the sofa next to Charlie, and indicating the cushions beside her. "You look as though you've had a difficult night. Perhaps a drink?"

Isla did not sit down. She blinked, opened her mouth, shut it quickly again and swallowed, then went over to a chair across from Phryne and sank into it with a plop.

"Jack," suggested Phryne.

Dutifully, Jack began pouring Isla a drink, but Isla just shook her head.

"No thank you, Inspector, sir," she whispered.

Startled, Jack looked questioningly at Charlie.

"It's all right, Inspector Robinson," Charlie assured him. "I told her. I had to. She…she needs a policeman, and I had to convince her to come here, so I…I'm sorry, sir. Didn't have a choice, did I?"

Jack was just preparing to chastise Charlie for having so readily given up his alias, but Phryne just shook her head and shot Jack a pointed look.

"It's quite all right, Charlie," she assured him. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, of course."

She raised an eyebrow at Jack.

"Of course," he muttered, clearing his throat.

Phryne returned her attention to Isla.

Isla, in turn, looked helplessly at Charlie, who sighed.

"It's about Mr. Kelley, Miss Fisher," he said. "Isla-!"

"That's not what I meant for him to do," exclaimed Isla suddenly, shaking her head violently and looking as though the tears were getting ready to overflow. "I didn't know that he was going to kill her! I didn't want him to!"

"I know, I know," insisted Charlie quickly. "Nobody's saying it was your fault, Isla; jeez."

"It wasn't my fault," she insisted, still shaking her head and staring at Jack.

Charlie let out an exasperated little breath.

"I didn't have to do much investigating," he said, looking at Phryne. "It was after you'd left the club last night, Miss, and I was just starting to go around and chat with the waitresses like you told me to do, when we, me and Annie, I mean, found Isla sobbing and sniffling herself to pieces. She wouldn't say a thing, and she kept insisting that she was fine, but she wasn't, so I took her home."

"Oh," murmured Phryne.

Jack wasn't entirely sure what that exclamation was for, and when he glanced over at Phryne, she had a very thoughtful sort of frown on her face.

"Yeah," mumbled Charlie, sighing as though he, at least, hadn't missed the significance. "I took her home, and when we got there she kept saying over and over again that it she was so sorry that Mrs. Todd had died, and about how much she'd liked Mrs. Todd, and wasn't I so sorry, too, and…well, none of it made a hell of a lot of sense, Miss, and I guess she knew it, because eventually it all came out and I figured we'd better tell you."

"You're absolutely right, Charlie," agreed Phryne.

Isla just looked miserable, and she shot Charlie a hurt look as though he'd somehow let her down.

"Miss Clark," began Jack quietly. "If you know something about Mrs. Todd's death, then it's absolutely crucial that you inform the police immediately. I'm sure you realize that."

Isla said nothing.

"I'm sure she does, Jack," murmured Phryne. "And of course, she wouldn't want to risk letting another man, an innocent man, be accused of Tara Todd's murder."

Phryne looked significantly at Charlie, who managed to keep his brave face on without looking too awkward.

Isla's eyes widened in surprise, and her hand flew to her mouth, which had started trembling again.

"I…I don't go to the pictures much," she said, totally unexpectedly.

Jack blinked, and even Phryne looked slightly put out.

"Father doesn't like the pictures," clarified Isla hurriedly, now looking pleadingly at Charlie. "He says that they give nice young ladies the wrong sorts of ideas. Of course, he doesn't like the clubs, either, but usually I can sneak out to the club after he's gone to sleep, and then as long as I'm back home before morning, he can't mind because he doesn't know."

 _He probably does,_ thought Jack absently.  _Unless you're the fastest and best laundress in all of Victoria, your clothes will smell of all sorts of things that fathers don't tend to like by the time you get back from The Three Brothers._

"So," continued Isla, shoving the words out as fast as they would go, now, "when he said his name was Daniel, I didn't know that he was…that he was somebody special, some special Daniel. I didn't know that he was in the pictures. I only knew that he was the first nice-looking man who'd ever spoken to me first; I mean, who'd ever approached  _me_ , and so I wasn't to know that he was running away from the police, or that he'd done…that he'd done terrible things, or that-!"

She hesitated, then sniffled aggressively and took a slow, deep breath.

"Of course you weren't to know," said Phryne, very gently and reasonably. "And you wouldn't be the first, Isla; Daniel Kelley has been preying on nice young girls for as long as I've known him. It's how he was caught the first time, in fact. You've done nothing wrong. You couldn't have told the police what you didn't know, could you?"

 _I'm not so sure,_ Jack found himself inappropriately thinking,  _that you could be considered a "nice young girl," Phryne._

Isla just shook her head.

"Where," asked Jack, "did you meet this 'Daniel,' Miss Clark?"

"A-at the train station," she stammered. "I go there sometimes to get out of the house and to watch the trains. At home, Mother's always screeching about something and Father's always bellowing about something else, and so I went to the station to sit and get just a little bit of peace and quiet, and he was there on the platform. I guessed maybe he was waiting for a train, but he said no, he'd just come in from out of town to visit a friend, and a cab was gonna come."

Jack nodded.

"And, well…I was just sitting there, and he kept trying to start up a conversation with me, and...Inspector, I'm not used to men wasting their time getting to talking with me, and I…I was flattered. Really flattered."

She shot a quick, nervous look at Charlie, and Charlie studiously avoided her eyes.

"Perfectly natural, Isla," murmured Phryne, "although if you don't mind me saying so, it's more than possible that the men who won't talk to you may simply be intimidated."

Isla looked startled.

"You're an independent woman with ideas of your own," insisted Phryne. "You clearly don't intend to sit quietly at home and go along with whatever it is your father says about what's 'appropriate' for nice young ladies. You'd be amazed how alluring men actually find a woman with a mind of her own…but also how frightening an independent woman can be to any self-respecting man. She baffles them, which is exciting and very, very alarming at the same time."

"'S true enough," muttered Charlie, shrugging.

Isla frowned.

 _We're getting a little far from the point,_ thought Jack.  _Feminism, in all it's righteous glory, may have to wait until after we've caught the killer Sorry._

"What exactly," he demanded, "did you talk about with Mr. Kelley?"

Isla turned to look at him again, and this time she looked really scared.

"I…" Swallowing hard, she looked helplessly at Charlie, but this time he didn't step in to relieve her.

"About a lot of things, I guess," she managed, after it became clear that no one else was coming to her aid. "About…about Father, and Mother, about what sort of places were fun to go in the city, and about…about The Three Brothers. We talked about…a lot of things."

"And about me," muttered Charlie.

Isla winced.

"And about Mr. Taylor," she whispered unhappily.

Phryne raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," sighed Isla. "Yes, I…well I was angry about Charlie, you see, and I was…I was upset. I'd been in the club that night, you know; the night she'd come out of the bathroom with that camera, and then when that awful nasty picture went up, I just…I mean, of course I knew it was her who'd done it. What a miserable, stupid, nasty little thing to do, too! I was so mad!"

Jack let out a long breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding in.

 _So,_ he thought.  _There it is. That's how Kelley did it._

"Daniel agreed with me," Isla rushed on. "He said it was stupid, too, and that he hated people who were so…well, he hated people who hated other people so much for stupid reasons like that. He said that I ought to do something about it; about Mrs. Todd and the photographs, I mean, but when I said that nobody'd believe me if I ratted on Mrs. Todd, because she's the owner's wife, and all, and nobody'd care what I had to say about it, then Daniel told me he knew a good prank that we could play on her, and wouldn't she be sorry!"

Charlie muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and Isla suddenly reached out and clung to his hand. Obviously taken aback, Charlie stared down at the hand for a moment with a disconcerted look on his face before, very gingerly, taking into both of his own and patting it hesitantly a few times.

"We were supposed to go into the club together, a couple of nights later, after everybody else had gone home," mumbled Isla. "There's a back door through the kitchen; I had Annie leave it open for me. She and I went to school together, you know, long ago. We used to be friends."

Jack made a mental note that he'd need to speak to this "Annie" as soon as humanly possible.

"But," Isla went on, "when Daniel showed up and I checked the time, I realized just how late it was, and I was afraid that I'd never get home in time to be in bed before Father started wondering what had happened to me, so I got scared. I wasn't going to go through with it, but Daniel was…he was so nice about it. He said that I'd better rush home quick, and that he'd go ahead and finish up without me, and that in the morning everybody would be so surprised, and that Mrs. Todd would get what was coming to her after all. I was so relieved…I just bolted. I…I didn't think-!"

This time, Isla really did dissolve into sniveling tears, and Charlie just looked exasperated.

"But I didn't expect him to kill her," she sobbed, shaking her head and squeezing Charlie's hands tightly in both of her own; so tightly that he winced. "I didn't mean for him to kill her! I didn't!He said it was just a trick!"

"He didn't kill her for you, Isla," said Phryne, taking a deep breath. "Don't worry. Daniel had his own reasons for wanting Mrs. Todd dead, and none of them had anything to do with dirty photographs. You're lucky that you went home early; if you'd stayed to help out with the 'prank,' he'd only have murdered you, too."

Isla was now too busy crying to say anything at all. She leaned into Charlie, and Charlie, after shooting a helpless glance at Phryne, put an arm around her and averted his eyes. Isla put her head on his shoulder, and Charlie stiffened but didn't pull away.

"I, uh, think," he managed over the sound of Isla's tears, "that I'd better get her home now, Miss Fisher. Unless, you, uh…you want to charge her with something"

Charlie shot a wary look at Jack, but Phryne stepped in before Jack had the chance.

"Of course he's not going to charge her," insisted Phryne. "She hasn't done anything wrong."

"There is," muttered Jack pointedly, "the small matter of breaking and entering."

Phryne waved that away with a dismissive hand. "Isla didn't break into anywhere," she reminded him. "Annie was the one who left the door open."

"And I'll have to speak to Annie," countered Jack, "tomorrow morning, if at all possible. I'll need to see her down at the station."

Phryne shook her head.

"You can't," she told him. "Annie thinks you're 'Archie Jones,' remember?"

Jack shrugged. "Perhaps it's time to disillusion her, and the rest of them, too. We're already halfway there, and it's bound to come out sooner or later."

Phryne didn't look at all convinced.

"The moment you break your cover," she assured him, "Daniel's going to realize that the game is up and that you're no longer particularly interested in our potential 'suspects' at The Three Brothers."

"He won't," returned Jack, "suspect anything of the sort. There's no reason why I can't investigate just as well as a policeman as I can as an undercover piano player. In fact, I usually prefer the policeman persona when I'm conducting an investigation."

"Daniel knows perfectly well that if you give up your undercover position, you'll have lost some of your power over these people;" returned Phryne seriously. "They'll be far more afraid of you and far less likely to trust. It'll be slow going, and the element of surprise will be lost. You know that, and Daniel will see very clearly that if such things no longer matter to you, it must mean that something's changed and that you're far less interested in the people at The Three Brothers than you should be."

"We cannot," grumbled Jack, "go on playing pretend like this forever. It's getting ridiculous, and we're losing time. If we're ever going to catch this bastard, then-!"

"Please, Inspector," whispered Isla, swallowing a sob and a shuddering breath. "I really have to get home. Father's going to worry if he doesn't find me. I don't know what I'd say."

She got shakily to her feet, and Charlie reluctantly got up with her.

"See you tomorrow, Miss Fisher, Inspector," mumbled Charlie.

He and Isla started for the door, and Jack sighed in exasperation.

"We may need to see you at the police station in the morning for further questioning, Miss Clark," he called after her. "Official questioning, which this frankly isn't and can't be."

"All right," mumbled Isla. "I'll go. I will, really. Goodnight….Inspector. Goodnight, Miss Fisher."

They started out the door together, Charlie still hesitantly holding on to Isla's hand.

"Charlie," said Phryne, stopping him on the doorstep. "Be careful going home."

"I will, Miss," agreed Charlie, shutting the door behind him.

Jack watched through the open window as they headed down the steps together and out into the night, presumably to where either Charlie or Isla had parked a motorcar. He didn't leave the window until he heard the sound of an engine roaring somewhere nearby, and saw a car roll past down the street and disappear around the corner.

Once they'd definitely gone, Phryne turned slowly and drifted back into the drawing room. She sat down heavily on the sofa, and Jack quietly poured her a drink.

"I suppose in a sense, she whispered, gazing thoughtfully into her glass, "he did pull his 'prank' on Tara Todd. He pranked poor Miss Clark, as well. It's as though this is all some sort of morbid little game."

"That's the third woman in as many months who he's charmed into flouting the law," remarked Jack. "Sadie Nguyen, Tara Todd, and now Isla Clark."

"Sadie and Tara are both dead," Phryne reminded him.

Jack nodded grimly.

"We'll keep a close eye on Isla," he said. "Luckily for us, I have a feeling that her father won't be letting her out of the house again anytime soon. She's probably better off, just at the moment, under the strictest of parental guidance."

"I'd have to agree," sighed Phryne. "No more jazz clubs for a little while, at least. No more freeing little jaunts alone to the train station, to attract the attention of beautiful, flattering strangers."

Jack poured himself another drink.

"I can understand, of course, why Isla fell for his trick," Phryne went on, shaking her head. "There's nothing more natural than being taken in by a gentleman's unexpected interest. What I don't and probably won't ever understand is Tara Todd. Oh, I know that they'd been married and that she'd probably cared for him a great deal, once, but I'm sure that she knew what he was really like. She'd left him once before, so why on earth, when he showed up on her doorstep as a fugitive from the law, did she humor him? Was it just because she was afraid? In that case, she probably would have contacted the police right away; not waited until her friends started gossiping and making her more worried. She couldn't have failed to know what sort of man Daniel really was, and yet…it's difficult to believe. It's almost embarrassing on behalf of women with sense, which I suppose is a really, genuinely horrible thing to say, and I don't really care."

Jack shrugged.

"Men and women are equally guilty," he said simply, "of believing that the people we love can change."

"But people don't change," murmured Phryne. "Not sincerely. You're a policeman, Jack...you must know that better than most."

Jack took a long sip of his champagne, and opted not to respond.

* * *

 **Author's End Note:** Rest time now. More writing later. Please review. Makes me smile. Sorry for the curtness.


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Mack the Knife

**Author's Note:** …brain, brain, go away, come again NEVER.

*sigh* As always, apparently the FFnet document editor isn't working properly.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Mack the Knife**

The next morning, impossibly, everyone arrived on time for breakfast, which meant that breakfast, usually enjoyed casually in the kitchen, had to be moved to the dining room where there were sufficient chairs to seat all comers.

Mr. Butler, with help from Dorothy and Jane, had done Phryne proud with the spread that he'd come up with for the occasion. There were bowls of flavored oatmeals, heaping place of eggs on toast, several different kinds of breakfast rolls and some of Dorothy's famous cinnamons cones, as well as apple juice, orange juice, tea and coffee in pitchers arranged in the center of the table.

"Well," murmured Mr. Butler, hovering at the end of the table while the rest of the group dug eagerly in. "Isn't this nice? Having everyone here together…it almost feels like a holiday."

"I made the rolls, Miss Fisher," announced Jane proudly.

"Yeah," agreed Bert around a mouthful of bread. "And they're edible, too."

Jane shot him a dirty look, and Cec nudged him hard in the ribs. That made him start spluttering and coughing, and Hugh had to pat him aggressively on the back to keep him from choking.

Dorothy took a bite of the roll on her plate.

"They're lovely, Jane," she said, beaming. "Delicious. You've taken to baking, I see."

"Moreso than I ever did," remarked Phryne. "Well done, Jane."

Jane looked delighted.

"I," announced Jack, as though feeling a little left out, "have been known to make an impressive scrambled egg."

Cec and Bert both turned to look at him surprise.

"Uh, somehow," muttered Cec, "I didn't peg you as the type, Inspector."

"Do you cook, Jack?" Phryne sipped at her orange juice. "You never cease to surprise me."

"'Course he does, Miss," returned Hugh, shrugging. "Can't imagine who else would be cooking for him, and he does have to eat, now and again."

Mr. Butler coughed politely and started refilling cups of tea.

"Hugh," hissed Dorothy, looking slightly shocked. "What on earth made you say a thing like that?"

"What?" Hugh blinked, glanced over at Jack, and then winced as he noticed the uncomfortable look on Jack's face. "That, uh…that definitely came out in a way that I hadn't intended. S-sorry, sir."

"Nevermind, Inspector Robinson," said Dorothy smoothly. "Hugh couldn't scramble an egg to save his life. He barely knows an apple from an orange.

"It's not quite that bad," muttered Hugh.

"I'm sure," added Phryne, "that Dot would be happy to come over and bake for you any time you like, Jack. She's an absolute marvel in the kitchen."

"I'm sure she is," retorted Jack, "but perhaps you shouldn't volunteer her for unsavory tasks without her permission."

Dorothy looked startled. "What? Oh, um, there's nothing unsavory about it, Inspector!"

"And I," added Phryne, "can't volunteer myself because, as we've already established, I can't cook at all. If it weren't for Mr. Butler and the grace of friends and groceries, I'd have starved to death long ago. I would, however, absolutely love to try your eggs one day."

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"I always knew you were a risk taker," he said, "but that sounds like a dangerous proposition, even for you."

"Careful Miss," muttered Bert. "There's a reason us blokes don't spend a ton of time in the kitchen. You sure you could keep it down?"

"I'm willing to take on the challenge," said Phryne, smiling, "if you are, Jack."

"I'll do my best," he told her, raising an eyebrow, "not to disappoint."

Cec chuckled.

"Hey," he asked Bert, "is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?"

"OW," snarled Bert suddenly.

"It's just you," muttered Dorothy, smiling sweetly.

"What the hell, Dottie?" Bert was glaring at her. "What'd you kick me for?"

Dorothy blinked.

"Oh," she murmured. "Sorry, Bert…I was going for Cec."

Hugh snorted into his teacup, and Jack shot him a look.

Suddenly, Jane laughed.

"It is kind of like a holiday," she said, smiling up at Mr. Butler. "Isn't it?"

Mr. Butler bent down to discreetly collect one of her rolls, and chewed thoughtfully on it while he refilled the orange juice pitcher.

"Not bad," he murmured appreciatively. "Really, Jane…not bad at all. Quite good, in fact."

Jane absolutely glowed with pride.

"Oi," muttered Cec, noticing that Bert had just snatched a scone from his plate, "That's mine."

Jack retrieved the plate of scones from beside him and passed it around to Cec, while Dorothy rolled her eyes and Hugh silently kept out of it, too busy having his mouth full.

Looking around the table, Phryne suddenly found herself feeling strangely and unexpectedly warm inside. Outside, the sun was shining, and when she accidentally caught Jack's eye over top of the butter dish, he, too, had started to smile.

* * *

After breakfast, Hugh and Jack headed out in the car for the police station, while Phryne and Dorothy discussed their own plans for the afternoon in Dorothy's room.

"Dot," asked Phryne, seated on Dorothy's borrowed bed while Dorothy laid out a few of the shirts that Hugh had brought over from their home the night before. "How would you feel about coming out with me today to do a little bit of subtle detective work?"

Dorothy frowned.

"I assume, Miss," she said without looking up, "that when you say 'subtle' detective work, you mean that we're not going to let the Inspector know about it."

"Something like that," agreed Phryne. "It's nothing particularly harrowing; not today anyway. I'm going down to the train station to ask a few friendly questions, and I could use some company. I was hoping that you might enjoy getting out for a bit."

Dorothy turned, gave Phryne a long, searching look, and then started to smile.

"If you're trying to take my mind off my troubles, Miss," she said quietly, "then…I do appreciate it."

Phryne shrugged.

"A good, solid day of engrossing work can be the best remedy for a broken heart," she told Dorothy. "Just ask Jack."

"Doesn't seem to be working too well for him, Miss," murmured Dorothy, carefully folding up the shirt and tucking it into the dresser, "if you don't mind my noticing."

"Nevertheless," sighed Phryne, "the principle is a good one. Let's try it, shall we? Coming?"

They finished up the rest of the shirts together, and then, safely securing their hats with the heap of extra pins that Dorothy still kept in her handbag, they set out in the Hispano-Suiza for the train station.

"I would like to learn a little more, if I can," explained Phryne during the drive, "about Miss Isla Clark's first meeting with the 'Daniel' she encountered at the train station a few days ago."

Dorothy nodded.

"Isla would very probably have become his next victim," continued Phryne, shaking her head, "but she's down at the police station with Jack, just at the moment, so I can only assume something's being done about protective custody for her, or something of the like. What I'm hoping to find out is; was there any truth to Daniel's statement to Isla that he'd 'come in from out of town' to visit friends? If he did arrive on a train, then where exactly did the train come from? He's obviously been close by for several days; close enough that he's able to pop into Melbourne jazz clubs, murder ex-wives and then rush off again to wherever his hiding place is without being picked up by the police. It's actually more than likely that he's hiding out somewhere in town, but on the off chance that he's got a lair somewhere else on the railroad line, I'd love to learn where his tickets purport to come from."

"I doubt the station agent's likely to remember," admitted Dorothy. "They get a lot of traffic, day in and day out, and it must have been a few days ago already that Mr. Kelley met Miss Clark."

"You're probably right," agreed Phryne, "but it's worth a try, and we have to at least explore every angle. I don't have to be back until around six, if Jack and I are going to leave together for the club this evening. This is probably the very last hurrah for Archie Jones and Miss Pearl Porter, you know; Jack's apparently decided that the jig is up and that it's time to abandon our undercover aliases in favor of the slightly less glamorous truth."

"Miss Phryne Fisher is plenty glamorous enough," insisted Dorothy loyally. "Even more so, I think, than miss Pearl Porter, for all her pretty necklaces and fancy frocks."

"Well, yes," agreed Phryne, "but I'm afraid that it'll be a bit of a disappointment for some of the regular lady patrons when the dashing, sultry-voiced Archibald Jones turns out to be just another policeman."

She grinned to take some of the sting out of the jibe, and Dorothy refrained from comment.

"It's a shame, though, Miss," she remarked eventually, as Phryne pulled the car into the train station lot. "You were having such a lovely time."

"I was," admitted Phryne, "and I wasn't, Dot. I'm afraid that relations between Pearl and Archie were starting to get just the tiniest bit complicated."

"Seems so," replied Dorothy. "I assume that's why we don't want the Inspector to know that we're investigating the station?"

It took Phryne a moment to decide how she wanted to answer that one, and while she thought about it, she and Dorothy readjusted their hats and climbed out of the car.

"Not exactly," she said finally, frowning to herself. "It's only that…Jack's developing a bit of an obsession with this case; and yes, admittedly, Dot, some element of that is my fault. He doesn't quite have his head on straight about it. I'm concerned that if he does manage to find out exactly where Daniel's been hiding, he'll tear off on his own to catch the criminal and bring him back to me in handcuffs, like some kind of trophy to prove his valiant efforts on my behalf."

"And…why would that be a bad thing?" Dorothy frowned. "I'm sure we all want Mr. Kelley caught."

"Of course we do," countered Phryne, "but what I don't want is for Jack to rush off on his own. He'd rather do this without me, you know, despite any promises that I may have forced him to make, and I'm sure Daniel's expecting him to do exactly that. Daniel Kelley is no easy prospect, Dot, and he's already assured me that he'll kill Jack on sight if he can"

"And you're worried about him," murmured Dorothy.

"I'm not pretending otherwise," murmured Phryne, "although I'd rather you didn't say it in exactly those words to Jack. I doubt he'd like it."

"I imagine," returned Dorothy, "that if Inspector Robinson found out that you were breaking your promise and investigating on your own, he'd be equally worried about you."

Phryne turned and gave Dorothy a rueful sort of look.

"Well," said Dorothy defensively, "he would. He wouldn't be wrong, either, and you know it."

"But I'm not alone," insisted Phryne. "I've got you with me, Dot."

"Yes, Miss," agreed Dorothy, "although I'm reasonably certain that I wouldn't stand much of a chance against a professional stuntman like Daniel Kelley. I've really got no upper body strength."

"Don't worry," Phryne assured her, "we can fix that. Hugh's a boxer, isn't he? I'm sure he could show you a few body-building tricks. Or, if not, there's an excellent Greek wrestler in my acquaintance who's quite skilled at working the upper body. We'll yet turn you into the sort of muscular marvel who can hold her own against the toughest and most aggressive of prospects.

Dorothy made a face.

"Come on," suggested Phryne. "Let's go see if we can get anything out of the ticket agent."

* * *

At that very same moment, Jack and Hugh were in the interrogation room with a very unhappy young red-haired waitress who kept kicking her feet against the front of the desk and playing with her curls as she did anything and everything to avoid meeting Jack's eyes.

"Miss Bonner," muttered Jack, briefly consulting his notes. "Fortunately for you, we aren't here to discuss crimes against property, breaking and entering or allowing access to a premises not your own; although those are, and I hope you recognize this, serious crimes in and of themselves.

He raised an eyebrow at her, and Annie Bonner made a nervous little face and drummed her uneasy fingers against the desktop.

"I only forgot to shut it," she mumbled. "I only forgot. 'S not a crime to forget."

"Next time," Jack warned her, "it will be."

Reaching into his desk, he pulled out a large photograph and laid it before her on the table.

"Tell me," he said. "Do you recognize this man?"

Annie didn't have to more than glance briefly at the photograph before her eyes lit up.

"Do I," she breathed. "Do I, mister? That's Daniel Kelley! Everybody knows Daniel Kelley, Inspector, sir! He's a  _dream!_ Just a dream."

 _More like a nightmare or two,_ thought Jack grimly.

"I've seen every single one of his pictures," Annie went on, far more enthusiastically than she had about any of the questions asked her thus far. "And-"

"But have you seen him recently," interrupted Hugh. "Not in the pictures, but, uh…at the club, perhaps?"

"Daniel Kelley? THE Daniel Kelley at the old club? Oh my goodness do you think he might? Do you mean he's in town?" Annie fluttered her hands around her face and sighed excitedly. "Is he making a new picture? Do you think I might be in it? I mean, if it's in the club, then I-!"

"Mr. Kelley," muttered Jack, starting to weary of the sound of his own voice saying the same damn words over and over, "is wanted by the police for a remarkably long litany of crimes, ending, most recently, with the murder of Mrs. Tara Todd. If you do see him, Miss Bonner, you'll be expected to contact the police right away; you do understand that?"

Annie's eyes had gone predictably wide.

"No," she whispered, gaping a little and glancing hurriedly between Jack and Hugh. "No way, no…I mean, uh, y-yes, of course, uh…but I haven't see him, really. Only wish I had…"

Hugh glanced up at the clock, then frowned and shook his head.

"Almost noon, sir," he remarked.

Jack frowned.

"Miss Bonner," he began again, trying a new tack, "what can you tell me about Miss Isla Clark? I understand that the two of you went to school together."

"We used to be friends," said Annie, shrugging.

 _Yes,_ thought Jack.  _That's exactly what she said._

"Isla's a nice kid," Annie went on, chewing unhappily on her lip, "but she's flaky. Not a reliable sort of girl; not exactly. She's always getting up and tearing off to wherever she wants, whenever she wants, doing her own thing and everybody else be damned if she doesn't feel like playing along. It gets annoying, you know? I mean, she was kinda fun and exciting in school, but now we're all grown up and it's time to act like we're adults, like we mean it, and she's still running around pleasing herself. She won't go to school and doesn't want to work; right now she just sits around all night at the club, staring moon-eyed at our Charlie Taylor even though he doesn't want nothing to do with her and never will. Can't deal with the fact that she can't have her way, Isla can't. Guess maybe she's always been like that. Gets annoying, sometimes. I wish she'd just be real."

 _But what I want to know is,_ thought Jack, trying to decide exactly how he wanted to phrase the question,  _is Isla Clark the sort of girl who'd lie to the police? It's always possible that her story last night about meeting Daniel Kelley may have been a fabrication…or even that she's really fallen in with him and that she's covering for him as best she can. Miss Bonner certainly doesn't make her sound like the kind of woman on whose testimony we should completely rely. She also doesn't sound like the kind of girl on whose loyalty Kelley would allow his scheme to rest. Then again, this Annie keeps insisting that she 'forgot to close the door,' making her far from the most credible witness in the world, either. I wonder if Miss Fisher would have any more luck with her…or with Isla. We're going to have to talk with Miss Clark again, in any case._

"Miss Clark's really late, sir," said Hugh, frowning over at the clock. "Do you think we should call?"

"See if you can find the number, Collins," suggested Jack. "If you run into a wall, try Cecil Todd at the Three Brothers Club. I'm sure he'll know how to reach Miss Clark."

"Just look at that," muttered Annie, shaking her finger at Jack. "Here she is, now, flaking out on the police! I told you, sir, didn't I? Isla Clark's a nice girl, but she's a miserable little flake."

Hugh left the room to go and look up the telephone number, and Jack took a deep breath.

* * *

"Oh well," sighed Phryne, shutting the door behind her and Dorothy as they returned, less than triumphant, from their trip to the train station. "It was worth a try."

"Back so soon, Miss?" Mr. Butler collected both her and Dorothy's coats and hung them up on the rack by the door. "Not a successful visit, I take it."

"I'm afraid not," agreed Phryne ruefully. "What's next do you think, Dot? Shall we go and call on Isla at the residence of her oppressive father, or shall we see if Charlie will let us into The Three Brothers to do some snooping around before opening time?"

"I think," suggested Dorothy, "that I'm going to go see how Jane's coming along with her studying."

"Careful," Phryne cautioned. "You'll get sucked into quizzing her on the dates of ancient burials again."

"That sounds a lot less risky than haring off to the club against Inspector Robinson's wishes, Miss," concluded Dorothy. "I'll chance it."

Phryne laughed.

"If you do decide that you want to come, and I know you will," called Phryne, starting up the stairs, "then we'll go after lunch."

"Very good Miss." Dorothy nodded. "Do you think we'll have Hugh and the Inspector back for lunch?"

"I doubt it." Phryne shrugged. "They're probably too busy with the waitresses at the police station. Let's see, I think that makes….six for lunch, so it's a little less daunting than this morning, at least."

"I'll ask if Mr. Butler would like Jane and I to lend a hand." Dorothy smiled, then turned and headed into the kitchen, presumably to find wherever Mr. Butler had drifted off to.

Phryne climbed the stairs to her own room.

She could hear Jane, Cec and Bert in Jane's room, presumably going over Jane's class notes on ancient history for the upcoming half-term exams.

 _Poor Cec and Bert,_ she thought, smiling to herself and shaking her head.  _I'm sure they'd much rather be out doing pretty much anything than playing babysitter to a history enthusiast. Oh, well. Don't worry, boys, it'll all be over soon. Daniel certainly has been active, lately, and the more he risks coming out of hiding, the closer we are to laying our hands on him at last._

Pulling open the door to her own room, Phryne took one step inside and then stopped sharply with her hand still on the knob.

There was a young woman lying forbiddingly still in the middle of Phryne's bed, face-up, with a pillow covering her face.

Rushing over, Phryne very carefully removed the pillow to reveal the cold, empurpled face of Isla Clark, her eyes horribly open and her mouth half-twisted into what looked like it had once been a scream.

With her heart pounding painfully in her chest, Phryne steadied herself against the bedstand and took a deep breath. Then she noticed that there was a piece of yellow paper pinned with a safety pin to the edge of the pillow.

 _I WARNED YOU, BEAUTIFUL_ , read the paper in large, unexpectedly delicate print.

Phryne's breath caught in her throat, and for a split second she found herself frozen.

"Bert," she shouted, spinning back around towards the door. "Cec! Dot! Come quickly! Jane! Mr. Butler! I want everyone in here with me right away!"

* * *

 **Author's End Note:** I'm on a train as I finish writing this, off to have exciting adventures with other Miss Fisher fans and fanfic readers! What a wonderful way to spend a Sunday morning! I only wish my head would stop hurting…but it's a heck of a lot better than it was last night, and thank goodness for small mercies!

I brought a cloche hat (I found it in my mother's closet) to wear to the meetup. I'm hoping this will help other people recognize me, since I really have no hope of recognizing anybody else. What fun. I'll be sure to let you know how it goes!


	15. Chapter Fourteen: More Than You Know

**Author's Note:** I had an absolutely fantastic time meeting the other Fairfax MFMM ladies yesterday morning! They are super inspiring people! I ended up getting home after rehearsal and writing myself silly; I completely revamped my author website and my writing tumblr, I spontaneously created a chapter of a brand new MFMM story inspired completely by conversations had with those lovely ladies, and now I'm hopefully going to get out another chapter or two of this story before it's time for me to return to real world work (yuck.) Feeling very positive, today! How are you?

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: More Than You Know**

Only an hour or so later, Phryne, Dorothy and Jane were clustered together in the parlor with Mr. Butler, while Jack, Hugh, Cec, and Bert combed the house for the second time that week, looking for any trace of Daniel Kelley lurking somewhere in the shadows.

"No sign of him, sir," sighed Hugh, emerging from his and Dorothy's bedroom to meet the others in the hallway. "And this time there aren't any windows open; not a single one."

"The front and back doors are both firmly locked," added Mr. Butler, shaking his head. "I've checked them several times. The locks don't appear to have been tampered with, so I'm reasonably certain that he couldn't have gotten in that way."

"But he did get in," muttered Jack under his breath. "Mr. Butler, have you let anyone in since we left this morning? Anyone at all? A..repairman, maybe, for the leak in the upstairs bathroom, or-!"

Mr. Butler gave Jack a doubtful look.

""I fixed that leak last night," Cec assured them. "Works like a dream, now."

"I assure you, Inspector," added Mr. Butler with just the very slightest hint of disapproval in his voice, "that no one but yourself, Constable Collins, Miss Fisher and Mrs. Collins have entered this house since breakfast this morning. I presume that none of the people I have just mentioned could be Mr. Kelley in disguise."

Jack sighed.

"Right, of course not," he mumbled. "And of course you'd know better than to open the door to strangers at a time like this. My apologies, Mr. Butler. I'm a bit…"

He fumbled for the right word to describe the panicked mess that was going on in his head, but Mr. Butler just shook his head and smiled.

"Think nothing of it, sir," he said. "I'm sure that we're all a bit out of sorts."

"Sir," said Hugh urgently. "I...I don't mean to be unnecessarily alarming, but if all the doors and windows are locked, now, then it's just possible that he's still in the house."

"No it's not," retorted Bert, shaking his head emphatically. "Nowhere else for him to hide, mate. We've looked everywhere; all the closets, in the pantry, even under the damn beds."

"Yeah," agreed Cec. "Trust me, Inspector; Kelley's not here. Musta scarpered."

"That's impossible," insisted Jack. "How could he have gotten out?"

"He got in somehow, Jack," murmured Phryne, with her arm around a very quiet, very serious-looking Jane. "Presumably he could get out the same way."

She, too, was unusually quiet and still, her eyes fixed on the hallway that led out towards the front of the house and to the firmly locked door.

"Uh, maybe," suggested Hugh, "we should all go down to the station for the night, sir. Might be easier to keep an eye on everyone, there."

Jack just shook his head.

"Not enough space, Collins, honestly," he muttered. "Besides; a man who can break into Miss Fisher's residence is just as likely to break into the police station. Now that I think about it, we still haven't gotten that skylight repaired."

Hugh's face fell.

"Oh, yeah,' he mumbled.

"A stalemate," sighed Phryne. "An impasse. The ball is in his court, Jack. We'll have to wait until he makes another move."

"We're not going to give him the chance to make another move," snapped Jack. "I do not want anyone leaving this house. Is that perfectly clear?"

Cec and Bert didn't look too pleased, but everyone else nodded, and eventually, the two of them agreed as well.

"Also," continued Jack, "no one should be alone, for any reason, at any time."

"Uh…" hesitantly, Bert put up a hand. "What if we have to go to the gents?"

Cec raised an eyebrow at him. "Oi, there are ladies present."

Bert just shrugged.

"A perfectly reasonably question, Mr. Johnson," replied Jack quietly.

"Don't drink anything," suggested Hugh, shrugging. "See if you can hold it off."

Bert glared at him, and Dorothy snorted a nervous little laugh.

Detaching himself from the wall where he'd been standing and listening to the talk, Mr. Butler strode over to the sofa.

"Come along, Jane," he said. "You can regale me with your knowledge of burial rituals in ancient Sumer while we put the tea together."

He offered Jane a hand to help her to her feet, but as Jane took it and got up, she shot a quick, nervous look at Miss Fisher over her shoulder.

"It's all right, Jane," Phryne assured her, nodding encouragingly. "You'll be perfectly safe with Mr. Butler."

Jane bit her lip, and then gave Mr. Butler a hesitant sort of smile.

"I'm not doing so well on my Sumerian studies," she warned him as they started together for the kitchen. "It's my weakest subject."

"All the more reason for us to discuss it, then," Mr. Butler assured her. "Teaching someone else about a subject you're uncertain of is, I understand, one of the best ways of solidifying knowledge."

Once Mr. Butler and Jane had retreated, Dorothy got to her feet.

"I did some laundry this morning," she said. "I have to finish-!"

"I'll come with you, then," interrupted Hugh, hurrying to her side. "If…that's all right with you, I mean, Inspector?"

Jack only nodded. "Of course. Just keep your eyes and ears open, Collins."

"Right, sir," agreed Hugh. He and Dorothy started up the stairs, and Jack watched them until they'd made it safely to the top of the staircase and through the door of Dorothy's old room.

"Guess that means it's you and me, mate," muttered Cec, standing up and stretching his neck.

"Surprise, surprise," remarked Bert. "Hey, at least we don't have to listen to any more damn history lectures."

"You should think about educating yourself a little," retorted Cec. "It's actually kind of embarrassing. Honestly."

"Oi," demanded Bert, "what the hell's that supposed to mean?"

They drifted off into the kitchen, still bickering, leaving Jack and Phryne alone in the parlor.

"Jack," asked Phryne urgently, "what about Charlie?"

"He's at the police station," Jack assured her. "Walker telephoned me about it a few minutes ago. We're keeping him there overnight for his own safety. He's perfectly fine….shaken up a bit, surely. No doubt Kelley will be too preoccupied with us to waste time terrorizing Mr. Taylor, but we need to be sure."

Phryne just shook her head.

"Daniel's vindictive," she whispered. "He's cruel, and this is about fear. It's about making us realize what he's capable of, now; now that he's decided he needs to scare you off the scent. He'll do it slowly…he'll go after everyone he can before he gets to you and me…for now."

Jack let out a slow, frustrated breath.

Phryne got to her feet, and Jack gave her a grim sort of smile.

"Stick close to me," he ordered.

Phryne hazarded a laugh that died away on her lips before it had gotten very far.

"With pleasure," she whispered, but it was half-hearted and the merriment was really long gone.

* * *

The afternoon dragged on into evening, and Phryne Fisher's house was insanely, irrationally quiet; as though if anyone made too much noise they'd wake the sleeping specter of Daniel Kelley, and he'd finally come out of some secret lair hidden deep within the walls to claim them all.

That night, Jane slept in Phryne's room with her, while Phryne herself tossed and turned, lay fitfully awake staring at the ceiling and very occasionally drifted off into hazy, unwelcome dreams.

Once, during a patch of uneasy sleep, Phryne found herself half-remembering, half-dreaming of the night she'd rushed home in a panic after getting no answer on Professor Rhodes' telephone. She'd arrived back at the house only to find her entire household lying around motionless and unresponsive on the floor, their eyes wide and horribly open; smashed teacup bits scattered everywhere.

For what she'd thought, at the time, was the most horrible moment, Phryne had been sure that Mr. Butler and Dot were dead. Thankfully, they'd all turned out to be breathing.

Moments later however, there had been a far more terrifying, more horrible moment when she'd discovered that Jane, absolutely and without question, wasn't anywhere in the house.

"Jane," she shouted in her dream, pounding up what seemed somehow to be an inexplicably long flight of winding, twisting stairs that never, ever ended. "Jane, where are you? Jane! JANE!"

Just as she finally reached the top of the tortuous staircase, Phryne's eyes flew open and she awoke with a gasp in her own darkened bedroom, with Jane lying beside her, still mercifully asleep.

Jane, "whispered Phryne in relief, gently running her fingers over Jane's hair and enjoying, for a moment, the steady, soft sound of Jane's breathing.

The uneasiness of the dream still lingered, however, and now she couldn't keep herself, even in the waking world, from seeing the frozen, slack-jawed faces of Dorothy, Mr. Butler, Bert and Cec plastered starkly against the back of her mind.

Getting swiftly out of bed, she gave Jane a quick kiss on the top of the head and tucked the blanket up over Jane's shoulders. Then, throwing on a robe, Phryne slipped as silently as she could from the bedroom and out into the hall.

The hallway, too, was incredibly quiet, but at least not as terribly still. Cec and Bert, with their backs up against the wall, were sharing a pot of coffee between them, each of their right hands never drifting too far from the pistols at their sides.

"Cec, Bert," whispered Phryne. "Are you two all right?"

Bert shrugged. "Fine, Miss," he muttered. "Nothing to report."

"How about you, Miss Fisher?" Cec gave her a doubtful look. "You look awful. Can't sleep?"

"Who can blame you," muttered Bert darkly, "with a killer on the loose. Can't imagine how any of 'em can sleep."

"Never fear, Miss," Cec assured her. "Everything's under control. We've got you. How's the little Egyptian princess?"

Phryne managed a smile.

"Jane's fine," she told him. "Sleeping soundly."

"Good for her," mumbled Bert.

"Keep your pants on," Cec suggested to Bert, sighing. "Hugh and the Inspector are coming to relieve us in an hour or so. Won't be that much longer."

"Oh, good," retorted Bert. "Am I gonna be allowed to use the toilet, finally?"

Cec just shot Phryne an exasperated look, and Phryne felt instantly better.

"Go on back to sleep," suggested Cec. "We'll wake you if anything interesting happens."

"In a moment," she agreed, crossing past him to Dorothy and Hugh's door. "I'd…really, I'd just like to check."

"Sleeping like angels," insisted Bert. "I promise you."

Nonetheless, Phryne silently pulled open Dorothy's door, and, after blinking around for a moment,was pleased and relieved to see her and Hugh fast asleep side by side in the double bed. Hugh was gently snoring with the side of his face pressed into the pillow. Phryne took a deep breath.

"See? What'd I tell you?" Bert shrugged as Phryne carefully closed the door again. "Nothing to worry yourself about, Miss Fisher."

"Thank you, Bert," whispered Phryne, and she meant it. "Thank you both so much for everything."

It was more intense sincerity than Phryne was in the habit of giving her two favorite cabmen, and for a moment, Bert looked frankly startled.

"Hey," began Cec. "None of that, now. 'S nothing, Miss."

"Yeah," agreed Bert. "Anytime, sure."

Just as Phryne was turning away from Bert and Cec, Mr. Butler came up the stairs to meet them.

"Miss Fisher," he said, frowning, "you should be in bed. Unfortunately, I've no doubt that it's going to be a long day, tomorrow. You'll need your rest."

"In a moment, Mr. Butler," agreed Phryne, her smile broadening, frankly delighted to see him awake and alive. "I promise, I'll…I'll get back to bed in a moment. Humor me, a little. I've got some silly fears that need a bit of calming, that's all."

With that and a nod, Phryne returned to the door to Jack's room, very carefully pulled it open and then shut it behind her again as she crept inside.

"Jack," she called softly, waiting the extra second for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Jack, however, did not respond.

Frowning, Phryne moved closer to the bed, and her heart starting beating again in panicked earnest when she saw that Jack wasn't there. The bedclothes were all askew and the sheets had half-tumbled off the edge of the bed, but there was absolutely no one sleeping in it.

 _As though there's been a struggle…some sort of a fight,_ she thought disjointedly, trying to suck in a breath and finding that her lungs weren't cooperating the way they should.

"Jack," hissed Phryne hoarsely, spinning around to make sure that there was no one else in the room, alarm bells now ringing frantically in her head as she tried to keep control of herself and her mind started to race. "Jack…JACK, where are you?"

For what felt like the longest moment in the world there was no answer, and just as Phryne was about to fling herself out the door again and into the hallway to sound the alarm, the door to the adjoining bathroom opened and Jack walked out, still half-dressed in his shirt and trousers, with a startled frown on his face.

"Phryne," he murmured, hurrying to her side. "What is it? What's wrong?"

As soon as she saw him, the waves of merciful relief flooding back into Phryne's scrambled brain were overwhelming.

"Jack," she breathed. "Oh, thank god."

Before she'd gotten a hold of herself or even knew exactly what she was doing, Phryne had rushed into Jack's arms and was kissing him urgently, infinitely comforted by how real and alive he felt against her as he slowly wrapped his own arms around her and drew her wonderfully, reassuringly closer.

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

So this is obviously a two-part chapter.

I have a question (and this draws on a conversation I had with a friend the other day). How do you all feel about sex scenes in long-form stories? Yes, no? Only if tasteful? I feel like this is adult-enough fiction that we could go there, but I'd like to hear your thoughts.

Now, I'm talking about something that fits into the context of the story and makes sense.


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Stardust

**Author's Note:** I'm not even going to talk this time. Let's just jump right into where we left off.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: Stardust**

Jack's body responded to Phryne's insistent kiss before his head had a chance to catch up and make sense of what was happening. He already had his arms around her and his heart beating hard against hers by the time his brain kicked in and reminded him of the many delicious things that he absolutely wasn't allowed to do.

"Phryne," he managed a little breathlessly, releasing her and taking a step back.

Phryne didn't cling to him, but as he pulled carefully away she looked up at him with an expression on her face that Jack couldn't ever remember having seen there before.

There was still the clear trace of a fear in her eyes, and an incredible sort of desperate relief that was flooding her whole face, now; her lips slightly parted as she started hesitantly to smile.

"Jack," she replied, laughing a little in a low, almost embarrassed sort of way and taking a deep, steadying breath. Some of the color had already started returning to her face, but Jack could see that her hands were still trembling.

In that instant, with that look in her eyes and his name on her lips, Jack realized without a shadow of a doubt left that she loved him.

"How ridiculous," Phryne murmured, shaking her head. "Night terrors getting the better of me, I suppose. I thought-!"

"I'm right here," Jack assured her simply. "It's all right."

This time Jack didn't deny the unbearably strong urge to reach for her, and when he did, Phryne melted almost instantly into his arms again with her eyes already closed. Jack kissed her, slowly, deeply, intensely, struggling to keep a hold on his passions while still trying to show her, wordlessly but no less powerfully, just how much he loved her. He kept searching that kiss for the things she'd never said; the things that he'd always wanted to say to her, and he found them there in the way she succumbed to his embrace. There was a passionate whole-heartedness about it that sent shivers down Jack's spine as she gave herself up trustingly to him in a way that Jack was perfectly sure Phryne Fisher had never given herself to another man.

He never knew just how long the embrace lasted, or exactly when they'd begun to drift, but when he finally opened his eyes Phryne's back was pressed up against the wall and her fingers had somehow fastened tantalizingly on the top button of his shirt collar.

"You're still dressed," she whispered.

"It's my turn to keep watch," Jack heard himself say in a voice that didn't sound anything like his own.

"Not for another hour," Phryne reminded him, undoing the button expertly with a deft little flick of her fingers. As Jack sucked in a sharp, startled breath, Phryne stopped and frowned for a moment at the button, then abandoned it in favor of running her hands gently down his shirtfront, caressing his chest in a slow, gentle, almost exploratory way that made the thin fabric of the shirt feel suddenly constricting and very much like an unwelcome barrier between her soft hands and his skin.

He tried to say her name, tried to mumble some sort of a warning, but the words absolutely wouldn't come.

When she kissed him again, her hands now resting lightly against his belt, there were fireworks and sparks in the back of his brain. Jack let out a soft, half-strangled little groan of desire before, with a mighty, manly effort, firmly detaching himself from Phryne and swallowing hard.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, deeply ashamed of himself for the outburst. "I…promise you, I would never take advantage-!"

"I know you wouldn't," whispered Phryne with just the shadow of the most real, genuine smile he'd ever seen hovering on her face. "But sometimes, I really wish you would."

That inviting comment proved another hurdle between Jack's resolve and complete surrender, and as he battled valiantly with his own love and lust, Phryne nodded once and then sighed.

"I have to get back to Jane," she said. "And you're right…Bert's starting to get restless."

"I'm sure he is," muttered Jack, not sure if he should be relieved or intensely disappointed; furious with himself for the confusion and for the fact that he was still aching for her.

Still smiling without any hint of coyness or teasing in her eyes, Phryne turned around and started for the door.

"Jack," she said suddenly, stopping and looking back over her shoulder.

"What?" Jack licked his dry lips and forced himself to breathe.

"Please," she whispered, the smile faltering for a moment. "Be careful. I want you to still be here in the morning."

Jack nodded and finally managed a short, almost normal breath.

"If that's what you're sure you want," he said, very quietly, looking her seriously in the eye, "then I promise you that I will always be here in the morning."

"It is what I want," whispered Phryne, and that meant absolutely everything that Jack had ever needed to hear or know.

She left him then to return to her charge, and Jack, now very much awake with his head reeling and his heart throbbing, sat back down on the edge of his bed.

Jack now found himself unable to stop smiling ridiculously, fighting against a totally new and equally inappropriate urge; the urge to burst spontaneously and irrationally into song.

* * *

Phryne returned to her room that night and slept truly soundly for the first time in days. When she finally did wake up, Jane was sitting up on the bed beside her, stretching and yawning with her hair still tousled from sleep.

"Morning, Jane," murmured Phryne. "Did you get any sleep?"

"Some," admitted Jane, frowning. "I woke once and you weren't there, Miss…I got scared. I thought-!"

"I'm so sorry," said Phryne gently. "I just went down the hall to check on the others; to make sure that everything was all right."

"And…and they were all right?" Jane sighed. "I mean, I'm sure they were. I just…it's all so horrible. It's almost exactly like-!"

Jane stopped suddenly, biting on her lip.

"Nevermind," she said in a much smaller voice.

Phryne, however, thought she already knew what Jane had been about to say.

"It's just like when Murdoch Foyle was here," she murmured.

Jane shrugged helplessly. "Well…it is, a little."

"No it isn't," Phryne reassured her, "because this time, no one is going to hurt you, Jane. I'm not going to let him hurt either you. You're safe, now."

Remembering the way that Jack had wrapped her in his arms only hours before, whispering lovingly and half-breathlessly to her that he'd always be there in the morning, Phryne shut her eyes and enjoyed the warm feelings that were starting up in her core and spreading through her like the sunlight through the crack at the bottom of the window blind.

Jane only nodded.

"I suppose," she said, "that this is just part of what it means to be a private detective, Miss. There's always someone who doesn't like you; maybe someone you've found out or someone whose husband you've locked up, or something like that. Doing good makes you enemies, doesn't it? It's a terrible thing, but I guess it can't be helped."

Jane sounded so calm, so matter-of-fact about it all, but Phryne suddenly found that the warmth in her chest was gone.

 _The nightmare will be over,_ she could hear Jack promising her, the way he had outside the club not even two days ago.

 _These nightmares,_ she'd agreed.  _Daniel's nightmares._

Jack had nodded.

 _And,_ she'd asked him then,  _what about after that?_

"Miss?" Jane was frowning t her. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Fine, Jane," murmured Phryne, smiling absently and nodding, suddenly no longer quite as eager to daydream about Jack.

"I, uh, didn't mean to be shocking," said Jane carefully, giving Phryne a wary look. "It's only…well, 'a hero's work is never done,' is it?"

Jane smiled, and Phryne raised an eyebrow at her.

"Just having fun," said Jane. "I read it in a comic, somewhere."

"Since when," asked Phryne, "do you read comics?"

They both climbed out of bed, and Jane pulled her set of clothes off the closet door where she'd hung it up the night before.

"Girl at school lent it to me," she said noncommittally, clearly a little embarrassed. "Shouldn't we go check on breakfast?"

After dressing themselves and washing up a bit, Phryne and Jane went down to join the others in the dining room.

The breakfast this morning was just a little bit less lavish than it had been the day before, although at some point Dorothy seemed to have found the time to make scones, and there was toast, coffee, and cereal aplenty for the houseguests.

"Morning, Miss Fisher," called Hugh as Phryne and Jane took their seats across the table from him and Jack.

"Good morning, Miss." Dorothy, still looking a little sleepy, gave her a smile.

"Good morning," murmured Phryne, smiling at them while shooting a glance at Jack out of the corner of her eye.

Jack, however, didn't seem to have any intention of looking at her.

"Morning, Jack," she said pointedly, reaching across for a piece of toast.

Jack cleared his throat, briefly looked up, then immediately grabbed the coffee pot and began studiously pouring coffee into an already half-full mug of what looked to Phryne like it had at first been cocoa.

"Morning,' he mumbled, clearing his throat.

Phryne smiled into her teacup.

"Still no sign of the elusive Mr. Kelley," remarked Bert, shrugging.

"Yeah," agreed Cec, "and if anything's gonna drag him out of his hiding place, it's the smell of these scones. Nice work as always, Dottie."

Dorothy gave him a weary sort of smile.

"The Inspector and I are both pretty sure that he's gone, Miss," said Hugh slowly, glancing quickly at Jack for confirmation.

Jack nodded.

"But," added Jack, "I think he's made it perfectly clear that he may come back. We can't be any less vigilant."

"I agree," said Phryne emphatically.

"Same rules as yesterday," Jack went on. "No one is to go off alone."

"And you, Jack?" Phryne delicately swallowed a final bite of scone. "What are your plans for the day?"

Jack shrugged. "We need to go and release Charlie Taylor; I'm sure he's been restless enough cooped up at the police station all night."

"Bring him here," suggested Phryne. "There's safety in numbers, remember?"

"I'm not sure we can assure him any safety in a house where Kelley's already appeared twice," Jack reminded her.

"He lives alone," said Phryne quietly. "Either assign him a constable; preferably one who isn't completely worthless, or bring him here to ride it out with us. He's been too involved with Isla Clark and knows too much about Daniel's movements to be safe. If the next target isn't one of us, then it's almost certainly Charlie. We can't just leave him to fend for himself."

"Cecil Todd," muttered Jack, "and Annie Bonner are also too involved."

"Good point," sighed Phryne. "Unfortunately, although I'm loathe to admit it, I think we're starting to run out of spare rooms."

"The drawing room," said Mr. Butler helpfully, "could almost certainly be fixed up for a temporary stay."

"Yeah," agreed Cec thoughtfully. "And if everybody Kelley wants to bump off is here at your place, Miss, then he'll have no choice but to show up eventually. Soon as he does, we nab him."

"Plenty more of us than there are of him," agreed Bert. "He's gonna be stupidly outnumbered. I like it."

Hugh, however, did not look at all convinced.

"I, uh, see your point," he said, frowning down at his half-piece of toast, "but wouldn't it maybe be a better idea to get Dottie and Jane out of the house, first? Don't you have some friends maybe, Miss Fisher, that they could stay with? What about that Portia Munroe? Or, uh, Dr. MacMillan, maybe?"

"I'm not going anywhere," asserted Dorothy quietly, taking Hugh's hand in her own beside her cereal bowl.

"Dot's right," agreed Phryne, shaking her head. "Much as I'd like to see both Dot and Jane out of harm's way, if we send them off on their own then Daniel will have a much easier time picking them off one by one."

Jack nodded. "Everyone stays here," he informed them.

"Don't worry, Dottie," Cec assured her, shooting her a smile across the table. "We've got your back. Yours too, Jane. Nothing at all to worry about."

"I wouldn't go that far," sighed Dorothy, "but it doesn't matter. I wouldn't leave in any case, no matter what you decide. Best that we all face this together."

Hugh looked at Dorothy as though he couldn't decide if he wanted to be proud or frustrated.

Jack let out a short, exasperated breath.

"Well then," he announced, "seems that we have our work cut out for us today, rounding up all of our potential murder victims."

"I'll get my coat," said Dorothy, getting quickly to her feet and grabbing both her and Hugh's plates.

"What?" Hugh blinked. "Wait, Dottie!"

"Coming, Miss Fisher?" Jack was already in the process of returning his plate to the kitchen. "Collins, perhaps we'd better take separate cars. You take Mrs. Collins in the police car, and I'll risk losing my breakfast on the drive."

"Sorry, sir," murmured Hugh, looking genuinely apologetic.

Jack made a face.

"Admit it, Jack," suggested Phryne as Mr. Butler deftly relieved them of their dishes and headed in the direction of the sink. "You're starting to enjoy our little jaunts together in the car."

 _If I am,_ thought Jack, watching Phryne securing her hat with a few extra pins,  _then it's got nothing whatever to do with your driving._

* * *

 **Author's End Note:** I have just noticed something.

I almost always put cereal or oatmeal on the table in my breakfast scenes, and yet no one (with the notable exception of Dot) ever seems to eat it. So much for whoever set the table doing their best to encourage healthy choices.


	17. Chapter Sixteen: So In Love - Part One

**Author's Note:** I am going to ask a fairly stupid question, and it's in reference to my other MFMM story.

So, at the end of season 3, Phryne took off in a plane to go to England. Okay. So that's the kind of reality we're working with here.

With that in mind, and since he doesn't have a private plane or, probably, the money to hire one, how do we think Jack would get to England from Australia if that was a trip he decided to make?

You are knowledgeable and brilliant people, and I am at a loss. Help me fanfiction hivemind! You're my only hope!

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: So In Love**

Later that evening, while Jack sat in the silent kitchen taking his turn at keeping watch, he reflected ruefully on how his life seemed to be turning into a poorly-written mystery novel; the kind reserved for the amusement of older ladies who liked to skip through routine police procedure to the more exciting, romantic, far less realistic elements of murder investigation.

 _We've ludicrously created our very own locked door mystery,_ he thought,  _with now eleven people, all potential murder victims, crammed into six bedrooms in a silent, locked and barred house in the middle of the night, and we're all waiting with baited breath for the serial killer to arrive so that we can catch him, hopefully before he manages the act. It's insane, and what's even worse is that I couldn't and still can't come up with a less ridiculous alternative._

Jack was sure that he'd seen one of those frivolous mystery novels lying on the counter in the kitchen sometime earlier that morning, and he wondered idly if it might, just maybe, have belonged to Mr. Butler.

 _Somehow, I can almost imagine him being a reader of outrageous mystery novels,_ he thought, smiling wryly to himself.  _I'd argue that it's probably a lot less glamorous to be in the midst of the real thing, but then again, with Phryne Fisher as the owner of the house, I'm sure Mr. Butler's life is almost as glamorous as the ones in the books and pictures. Unfortunately, mine seems to be turning out that way as well. In general, I'm sure I prefer the less exciting, methodical approach of boring police procedure._

There was a sudden creak behind Jack on the landing, and he spun around with his gun in his hand just in time to see Phryne herself coming through the kitchen door.

"Evening, Jack," she said. "One o'clock, then, and all's well?"

Jack frowned.

"You should be upstairs in bed," he said.

"I got tired of pretending to sleep," she returned, shrugging. "There are two young ladies in my bed, which isn't really as exciting as it sounds, I'm sure, and every time I hear the wind, or the ticking of the clock, or a creak in the walls or floorboards I'm absolutely certain that Daniel's here to kill us all. Really, sleeping's out of the question. Perhaps I'd be better off taking a turn keeping watch."

She settled down in a chair across from Jack.

"You must be exhausted," she said quietly. "If you like, you can try to sleep for a little."

Jack only shook his head.

"We agreed not to leave each other alone," he reminded her. "I won't abandon you to your post."

Phryne smiled faintly.

"Very well, then," she said. "Then if you can stand the company, we might as well watch together."

Jack intended to respond to that, but as soon as he opened his mouth, he ended up yawning instead.

Phryne laughed under her breath, and, embarrassed, Jack cleared his throat.

"Perhaps," he suggested, "a cup of coffee."

"Certainly," murmured Phryne, getting to her feet again and turning to the counter.

Then, of course, came the uncomfortable silence between them as Phryne prepared the coffee and Jack tried not to let his mind drift to where they'd been and what they'd said around that very same hour of night on the previous evening.

It was no use, of course. Recollections of that incredible kiss, and perhaps even more importantly, of Phryne's parting shot as she'd left the room had been plaguing Jack and distracting him all day.

 _It is what I want,_ she'd assured him cryptically before vanishing into the hallway, leaving, as usual, confusion and longing in her wake.

Even in the midst of what had turned into one of the most potentially dangerous stakeouts of his career, Jack found that he kept running last night's events over and over like a silent picture in his head, watching the memories each time for any hints or cues that he might have misinterpreted or missed the first time around.

There were things he needed to say, and that he needed to ask if he was ever going to have peace of mind again.

 _And this,_ he reminded himself firmly,  _is about as far as possible from the right time to get embroiled in any of that._

"Phryne," he began hesitantly, still not entirely sure what he was going to say.

Phryne turned around and passed him a mug of steaming coffee.

"Do you know, Jack," she said, re-seating herself next to him with her own coffee mug. "In a few months, I'm going to be thirty."

Jack raised an eyebrow at her.

"You…continue to look as young as ever," he hazarded, aware that there probably wasn't anything like a safe response to be had to a remark about a lady's age.

Phryne laughed quietly.

"I certainly hope I do," she returned, "but I'm starting to feel old."

This time, Jack took a moment to come up with a response. There was something about the thoughtful look in Phryne's eyes that made him inexplicably uneasy.

"I wouldn't worry too much about it," he said eventually. "You're still living for every moment, experiencing everything you can, every chance you get. If you're concerned that you're running out of time, or missing out on a chance to-!"

"No," insisted Phryne, shaking her head impatiently. "It's not that. Oh, I'm sure that I've plenty of magnificent years ahead of me to realize every possible dream, if that's what I want."

She paused, frowning into her coffee mug, and Jack waited.

"But you see," she whispered, again more to herself than to him, "maybe it isn't really what I want. That's how I know, I suppose, that I'm finally starting to age. They say that you know you're getting old when you start to feel as though change is a terrifying thing, and that if everything were to stay just the way it were, now, forever, then that might not bad so very bad after all. I've never felt that way before in my entire life, but now…just now, I'm not so sure that I wouldn't be happy if we went on forever, just like this."

"Like…what, exactly?" Jack raised an eyebrow, not quite daring to hope that he knew what she was talking about.

"This," repeated Phryne, waving a hand at the kitchen and the house all around. "The way things are, now, in this house, with these people. I've grown roots, you see, like an old withered tree, to the way we are. I've lain awake at night for weeks, now, imagining the most horrible things…like what would happen if they were all taken away from me at last. I can't stand thinking about what life would be like if Daniel Kelley got to…to any of you; to Dot, or to Hugh, or Cec and Bert, or dear Mr. Butler…or, god forbid, my beautiful Jane….or you, Jack. You, more than anyone, have become an irreplaceable part of everything I've come to care about. I think I knew last night, when I woke up in the middle of the night and found that, thank god, you and Jane were both still there, that there wouldn't be anything worse in the world than losing what I've come to love, and…well, that itself means that it's too late for me. I've lost at last. It can't all be so lovely and carefree, anymore. Not now. Maybe not ever."

She smiled and shook her head, and it was a confusing, half-frightened, half-rueful smile.

Jack couldn't find a single thing to say.

"I think," Phryne went on, "that perhaps I went to England in the first place partly to prove to myself that I wouldn't have to come back…that I could still revel in the magic of the unknown and the new without pining for the old and familiar that I'd left behind. Of course…I couldn't, after all. I found that I really couldn't leave you behind. I can't lose any of you, now, and now that I'm so appallingly attached, the world is inevitably a much more frightening place than it's ever been before. I suppose I'm just feeling…a bit out of my depth."

She sighed, and stirred absently at the coffee absently with a spoon.

"I'm frightened, Jack," she said. "All of a sudden, for the very first time in my life, I'm frightened of everything."

"I've…you know how much I care for you," muttered Jack confusedly.

Phryne just turned and smiled that inscrutable smile at him again.

"I know," she whispered, "and it's marvelous…but you shouldn't, and I'm not ready to say what you want to hear; not yet. You know…I could be wrong, about all of this, and by the time I'm thirty and three months I might have bounced back and gotten bored of roots and anchors and love…and it might all start over again. I can't ever promise you that I won't still wake up one morning and simply not love you the way I'd done before. I'll never be able to promise you forever, and I won't try. This might just be a fearful sort of phase of mine in the wake of Daniel's reappearance. We can't be really sure."

"I understand,' mumbled Jack, froze in place by the look in her eyes, feeling somehow bold and yet in the same moment terrified that he still might be reading it all wrong. "And I think that I can be comfortable with that…maybe even happy with that, if you will make me just one promise."

"Promises are dangerous, Jack," retorted Phryne gently.

"Promise me," insisted Jack, "that you're willing to try, and I won't ask you for any other commitments."

For a moment, Phryne watched him, and Jack could feel his heart doing horrible nauseating little maneuvers in his chest. He could feel his fingers starting to tremble from the nervous waiting, and he swallowed hard, steeling himself for yet another version of the same blow he'd subjected himself to several times already since he'd first been brave enough to beg her to care.

"I don't honestly seem to have much of a choice," replied Phryne eventually, shaking her head and broadening that smile ever so slightly. "No matter what I think I want, I've already told you, that I can't lose you. I don't think I could bear it."

"That sounds serious," said Jack quietly.

Phryne laughed.

"I'm afraid," she said simply, "that it just might be."

She continued to gaze thoughtfully into her coffee for a long moment before looking up at him with just a hint of a challenging spark in her eyes.

It seems that we're going to have to take yet another risk together," she whispered.

Belatedly, Jack realized that standing there and staring at her with his mouth incredulously half-open and his heart trying to beat it's way out of his chest probably wasn't a sufficient response.

Coughing uncomfortably, he stood up, closed the distance between them, and bent down boldly to kiss her.

It was an uncomfortable sort of hasty kiss, with him bent over her, his body trapping her into her chair as she craned her neck up to catch his lips.

The kiss only lasted a moment. After what felt like no time at all, Phryne gently broke away from him and left him standing there, feeling a little foolish, trying to stop himself from smiling like an idiot, which seemed at this point to be a totally lost cause.

"I do love the direction in which this conversations seems to be heading," whispered Phryne teasingly, "but the last time we distracted each other in the middle of a stakeout, it didn't end well."

"Of course." Embarrassed, Jack returned to his chair, and Phryne nudged the coffee closer to him.

They sat there side by side, sipping at their coffee in a sort of vaguely nervous, ecstatic silence until eventually Bert came downstairs to relieve them.

* * *

 **Author's End Note:** FFnet keeps deleting all my edits, and I keep trying to reinstate them. This is getting deeply irritating.

This was a huge chapter that I chopped into two smaller chapters.

Remember how I asked you about a sex scene?

Welp, the next chapter is a sex scene.

I ask you guys in advance to please forgive me for the monstrosity that I have created. I am not a writer; only a poor pathetic preschool teacher with hopeless literary aspirations.

Tread softly when you tread upon my dreams; that's all I'm asking.

Also, please bear with me if this chapter seems very weird. I'm doing my best to resolve this issues with the edits. Danke much.


	18. Chapter Seventeen: So In Love - Part Two

**Author's Note:** WARNING: This chapter contains slightly awkward first-time sex...and poetry. Not by me. I mean, yes, I wrote the sex, but not the poetry.

Let's just forge ahead. I'm regretting this already.

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: So In Love - Part Two**

Either fortunately or unfortunately, there was no longer any hope of Jack getting to sleep that night. He lay awake in his guest bed, fully clothed and staring at the ceiling, half-listening for sounds from the hallway and half-rehearsing in his head what he'd say to Phryne the next time he saw her.

She'd asked him, once, teasingly, what felt like ages ago to recite for her some modern poetry. All that Jack could think of now as he wracked his brains for the perfect lines was something of John Donne's. As Donne was a contemporary of the bard, Jack figured that probably wasn't Phryne's idea of "modern."

_Come, live with me and be my love, and we will some new pleasures prove, of golden sands and crystal brooks; with silken lines and silver hooks._

"The Bait," it was called, and it had always made him think of the elusive Miss Fisher, who he couldn't help but feel kept reeling him in like a fish on a line before casting him mercilessly back out to sea again.

There were a hundred dramatically brilliant romantic overtures that Jack knew would probably take Phryne's breath away and sweep her, jaded and cynical though she was right off of her feet. Unfortunately for Jack, he knew he'd never be quite brave enough to attempt anything of the kind. Every time he got it into his head to truly amaze her, he only ended up feeling awkward and too out of his depth to follow through, remembering that he was not, in fact, the dashing hero of some novel like the one he'd found in the kitchen, or the leading man of a romantic picture. His heart was in it, but his head wouldn't subscribe.

Somehow, he no longer felt as though the poetry was really sufficient to express anything that he wanted and yet was far too cautious to say.

He was still reciting verses over in his head when the door to his bedroom slowly opened. Catching sight of the movement out of the corner of his eye, Jack sat up abruptly to see Phryne slipping in, now wearing her purple silk kimono over, presumably, a nightdress that no doubt hid something even more dangerous than silk underneath.

"Were you asleep?" Phryne sighed. "I'm sorry, Jack, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Not at all," he muttered, shaking his head and clearing his throat. "Only resting my eyes for a moment."

"You should," she told him, seating herself on the very lip of the bed, "probably try to sleep, at least a little. God only knows when this is going to end."

Jack shrugged.

"No sign of Kelley yet tonight," he said.

"Bert's still downstairs," Phryne told him, "and Cec is sitting up outside Jane's room. I just passed Charlie on his way upstairs; I think he's going to relieve Mr. Butler."

"The changing of the guard," remarked Jack.

Phryne nodded.

"Did you know," asked Phryne casually, "that Annie Bonner snores like a motorcar engine? I can't imagine how Jane's coping."

Jack, at least, could recognize that cue when he heard it.

"How terrible for her," he said, starting hesitantly to smile despite all the nerves and the tension. "And for you, too. Of course, you can't possibly sleep in there."

"I really can't," agreed Phryne. "I'll get a headache, probably, if I have to listen to that any longer. I am starting to get really tired, though…and I do need somewhere quiet to lie down."

Jack shook his head, still smiling.

"Of course," she went on conversationally, "Mr. Butler and Mr. Todd's room is out of the question, and I know that no one would appreciate it if I intruded on Hugh and Dot. Cec and Bert already have the hallway covered for the next few hours, so I was wondering if maybe, just maybe, you might be willing to lend me a pillow for just a little while? I'd be ever so grateful, Jack."

She batted her eyelashes coquettishly at him, and Jack snorted a laugh under his breath.

Slowly, his heart pounding like a mad thing, Jack got up and carefully, neatly rearranged the bedclothes on the opposite side of the bed.

Phryne smiled softly.

"You always have been such a gentleman," she said.

"I do my best,' muttered Jack, not sure he could quite trust himself to say too much more, just at the moment. All of the beautiful love poetry he'd been so sure of reciting seemed to have gotten jumbled up in his head, and he couldn't come up with a single coherent line as Phryne casually removed her kimono, laid it across the back of a chair and snuggled herself down beneath his covers.

Just as he'd suspected, there was a vaguely revealing black silk thing underneath, hugging every single one of Phryne's curves.

Jack moistened his lips which felt suddenly very dry.

Phryne yawned, and sighed, and Jack settled himself back into bed, unable to force his gaze away from a fascinatingly tense muscle in Phryne's bare, alarmingly close right shoulder.

For a moment, they lay side by side in relative silence, before Phryne suddenly turned over and looked him doubtfully in the eye.

"Jack," she said, raising an eyebrow.

Jack held up both hands in protest.

"You said," he reminded her, "that you were tired. Far be it from me to take liberties."

Phryne made an exasperated face at him.

"I was going for tastefully subtle, which I thought you'd prefer," she sighed, ""Sometimes, I really think that you wouldn't know romance if it bit you, Jack Robinson."

Before Jack had a chance to respond to that, Phryne had scooted herself into his arms and was kissing him soundly on the mouth, her legs tangling themselves with his and her arms wrapping lightly around his neck.

Jack gathered her eagerly to him, gently parting her lips with his to deepen the kiss. Slowly, hesitantly at first, he let his fingers roam over her bare arms and shoulders before twining them in her hair as he breathed her in. Their kisses quickened as they both fought for breath, and then Phryne pulled away for a moment to smile at him, her eyes dancing.

Jack paused, breathless and uncertain.

"Phryne," he mumbled. "If…I remember correctly, then you said that Mr. Yates is right outside the door."

Phryne shrugged.

"We'll have to be discreet," she murmured. "Don't you think that makes it just a little more exciting?"

Jack, quite frankly, felt that this was more than exciting enough already. His nerves were more on edge than he could remember them ever being, and his whole body felt uncomfortably, deliciously hot.

Phryne leaned in to kiss him again, but Jack shook his head and held himself stoically back; an action for which the feverish, desperate parts of his brain almost immediately hated him.

"I told you yesterday," he breathed, "that I'd still be here in the morning. I meant that."

Some of the merriment in Phryne's eyes faded, and she nodded slowly.

"I know," she whispered.

"I need to know that you...that I can expect the same courtesy from you," he managed, gazing directly into her eyes. "I'm quite serious when I say that I don't want this if it's only for tonight."

 _That,_ thought Jack helplessly,  _is absolutely not the truth. I want this right now, so badly that I keep having to remind myself how to breathe…and it's been such a very long time. So long, in fact, that this might not go quite as well as either of us are hoping. The terrible difference between the fantasy and the reality, I'm afraid…_

While Jack was musing uncomfortably about his impressive lack of recent bedroom experience, Phryne took the opening and snuggled closer to kiss him softly again, smiling faintly against his lips before pulling away.

"I promise you," she murmured, so quietly that he almost didn't catch it, "that I'll try, Jack. For you, I will, honestly, try. That's all I can offer you in good conscience, but it's more than I'd offer anyone else. It will have to be enough."

"It's all I've ever asked," mumbled Jack.

Phryne returned his gaze for a long, steady moment as though she'd meant every whispered word.

Jack took a deep, steadying breath as his resistance finally crumbled, and this time when he kissed her he didn't force himself to hold back.

There was a fierce, fast, long-repressed desire in that kiss that elicited a gasp of surprise from Phryne and a groan of longing from Jack. His hands tightened convulsively around her waist as they kissed, again and again, hungrily enjoying the delicious warmth of each other's mouths and the delectable brush of skin on skin as their bodies fought, tangled up and intertwined, to get closer and closer together.

Jack buried his lips in Phryne's neck, his face tickled by stray strands of hair as Phryne's fingers, just as they had the night before, made their way up to Jack's collar. She flicked open the buttons of his shirt, one by one, brushing delicately against his chest as she moved down the row until all the buttons were open and undone.

"Mm," murmured Phryne appreciatively as she slid Jack's shirt off of his shoulders, depositing it unceremoniously on the carpet behind her.

Suddenly feeling terribly vulnerable in just his trousers and undershirt, Jack released his grip on Phryne and glanced down uncertainly at his own chest.

Phryne raised an eyebrow questioningly at him.

"W-when I was younger," stammered Jack, clearing his throat uncomfortably,"I used to be significantly more athletic."

"I wish I'd seen it," she returned, smiling. "It must have been a treat, since you're certainly respectably muscular now."

"Respectably?" Jack winced. "Not as respectable, perhaps, as a military pilot, or a professional wrestler, of course."

Shaking her head at him, Phryne gently kissed the top of Jack's shoulder, slowly moving her lips down his chest, bracing her hands against his hips to support herself as she leaned into him, lightly teasing his nipples with her tongue.

Jack gasped as that sent incredible little bursts of pleasure rocketing through his core and weakening his hold on reality.

"Don't misunderstand me," she assured him softly, her lips fluttering against his skin as she spoke. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with being...perfectly…respectable."

"Phryne," managed Jack breathlessly, his mind going blank.

"Shhh," whispered Phryne, deftly pulling his undershirt up and over his head. "Discretion, Jack. The changing of the guard, remember?"

The undershirt soon joined the developing pile of clothes beside the bed.

Phryne's hands drifted steadily down to the hook on Jack's belt, but Jack, with a valiant effort, reached down and stilled her hands, bringing them both up slowly to his lips and carefully kissing her fingertips.

The sultry, teasing look in Phryne's eyes softened for a moment as he drew her hands away from his lips again, and she smiled.

Gently, Jack found the edge of Phryne's silk nightgown and began hesitantly lifting it. Phryne threw both her arms over her head in a gesture of joyful surrender, shut her eyes and murmured something unintelligible as Jack freed her from the nightgown, which immediately joined its fellows on the floor.

There she was, smooth perfect, every inch as beautiful in person as Jack had ever dreamed she'd be, but with the unexpected addition of some decidedly exciting and yet equally daunting pearl gray lingerie, not-quite-hiding the most dangerous parts of the deadlier of the species.

Although Jack knew almost absolutely nothing about ladies lingerie, he had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn't the sort of thing that a woman would typically wear to bed.

Phryne must have noticed the bemused way he was staring at her, because she laughed.

"Sorry," she whispered. "Don't be disheartened. It's easier than it looks."

Jack, however, did not find that to be the case. As he fumbled with the fastening on the back of Phryne's brassiere, he found himself getting frustrated far too quickly, struggling through the haze of desire to sort out exactly which part of the clasp was supposed to come unhooked, or what piece of fabric it kept getting caught on.

As he fought bravely against the brassiere, Jack pressed urgent, hot kissed to the back of Phryne's neck, and she murmured happily, arching her back and sighing.

Jack found those little murmurs and sighs to be even more exciting, somehow, than the post-nightgown reveal had been, and when the clasp finally unhooked and the brassiere came away in his hands, Jack grinned with relief ever so briefly before taking Phryne in his arms again and capturing her lips with his with an even greater, more urgent intensity.

Things began to blur a little bit after that. Phryne finally succeeded in unlatching Jack's belt, and as she pulled off his trousers and began working intently at the only remaining cloth barrier between her and Jack's now almost painful desire, he was running his hands softly over her breasts and the gentle curve of her hips, lines from every Shakespeare sonnet or Donne love poem that he'd ever heard flowing freely through the back of his mind.

_In this love's hallow'd temple, this soft bed._

_In such white robes, heaven's Angels used to be_

_Received by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee_

_A heaven like Mahomet's Paradise; and though_

_Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know,_

_By this these Angels from an evil sprite,_

_Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright._

_Licence my roving hands, and let them go,_

_Before, behind, between, above, below._

Phryne's breathing, too, had now changed, and she'd managed to link her legs through his.

Gently, Jack turned her over on the bed, laying her down gently with her head against the pillows. When he leaned down to kiss her again, she reached up and steadied his hips against hers, and the contact was electrifying.

"Jack," she whispered, and when Jack stopped to look, there was desire burning in her eyes.

_O my America! my new-found-land,_

_My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann'd,_

_My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie,_

_How blest am I in this discovering thee._

""Phryne," gasped Jack, and, kissing her deeply, passionately, trying to convey everything with words that he no longer had, Jack pushed himself into her and reveled in Phryne's relieved little gasp as she wrapped her legs encouragingly around him and they began, hesitantly at first, to move together.

_To enter in these bonds, is to be free;_

_Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be._

Jack was careful, incredibly careful, letting Phryne set the rhythm and the pace. They started off slowly, cautiously, enjoying just the ecstatic feeling of one another, until the pace of Jack's movements intermingled with the sound of Phryne's gasps and sighs, and the poetry in Jack's head began to catch and stutter, the words blurring entirely as he lost himself completely in Phryne's embrace and in the incredible, unbelievable fireworks exploding in the back of his brain, coupled with Phryne's ecstatic shudders and cries of pleasure.

When it was all over, and Phryne lay curled up contentedly against his chest, Jack took a deep, steadying breath and quietly kissed the top of her head, pulling the covers back up over them both.

"That," whispered Phryne, laughing a little bit under her breath, "was more than respectable, Jack. I may have to take back what I said about your lack of affinity for romance."

Jack smiled, but his heart was still racing and everything still felt just a little bit unhinged and unbelievable.

Phryne snuggled up a little closer under the covers, and Jack suddenly passed a protective arm around her shoulders, alarmed by the fact that the sun was starting to shine through the bedroom window and that tomorrow was well on its way.

When she looked up at him and gave him a rueful sort of smile, Jack realized that he genuinely wasn't sure what to expect, and that part of him had already resigned itself, in the aftermath of everything, to disappointment.

"That's it, then," she whispered. "Now that you've solved my mystery at last and that there are no further frontiers for us to explore…what will we do tomorrow? There's nothing left for me to tantalize you with, now, Jack. You've had all there is to have. I'm out of secrets."

When Jack saw the apprehension in her eyes, and the way that she was trying to hide just a trace of uncertainty behind that smile, he couldn't help but feel relieved.

"Age doth not wither, nor custom stale your infinity variety," he quoted quietly, tucking his arms around her even tighter. "I'm not particularly worried about tomorrow. I can't imagine that you'll ever cease to amaze me."

Phryne laughed.

"Antony and Cleopatra," she said. "How appropriate."

Outside the door, Jack thought he heard Cec and Bert arguing with each other, and then being abruptly shushed by someone, probably Jane or maybe Dorothy.

 _There is still,_ Jack remembered abruptly,  _a killer on the loose...possibly even in this house._

That knowledge jarred horribly with the glow of what had just taken place in his borrowed bedroom, and he felt suddenly and deeply uneasy about the fact that he'd spent so long "off duty," as it were.

Phryne, who didn't seem to share any trace of that guilt, started faintly to laugh.

"We are going to have a very hard time," whispered Phryne into Jack's ear, "getting out of here."

* * *

**Author's End Note:**

Yes, well.

…

I can't. I'm sorry, that was atrocious. I can't actually even.

Excuse me. I'm moving into my new apartment. I'd...better go pack, or something. Yes.


	19. A Note to The Best Readers in the World

Hello friends!

 

Unfortunately, I have some nasty news for you. 

Due to an unforeseen personal dilemma, I will be placing the "Reason and Love" trilogy on what is, at the moment, an indefinite hiatus.

 

This isn't exactly what I had in mind by "cliffhanger," but I suppose it could be worse. At least we left off on a positive note.

 

I have every intention of ultimately finishing this story, but at the moment I need to take a step back....or at least, I'm going to try to.

If you're curious, or if you want further updates on the story/my life/my other work, I encourage you to check out www.arimoriarty.com, where you can also find my tumblr (ariooc). 

I also have a list of some excellent MFMM authors on my tumblr at the moment, if you'd liek something delicious to read.

 

I hope to see you all very soon back on Archive of our Own! 

Thanks for everything so far!  
As Always,

Ari Moriarty 


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